Twilight and Dawn
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: UPDATED JUNE 3RD! From the shadows, Jenova continues to set her wicked plans in motion, while Cloud and Sephiroth struggle with their inner demons. Meanwhile, Reno and Yuffie work at gathering everyone.
1. The Arrivals

**Final Fantasy VII**

**Twilight and Dawn**

**By LuckyLadybug**

**Notes: The characters are not mine (except Alexander), and the story is! This is something I have been planning for a while, and I'm excited about it. I hope there are not any other stories with this premise, but in my ventures I have not found any. And if the readers are confused at the beginning, then good. It's meant to be confusing at first! Please note that while I do not intend for this to be a crossover story, I could not resist a few passing references to another favorite series of mine, and while my OC is also based in this other fandom, he has a definite purpose here.  
**

* * *

** Chapter One**

There are many forces in life which are best left untampered. The planet Gaia's Lifestream is one of them, but some people throughout the ages have not and still do not agree. Nor do they agree on what constitutes "tampering." The Shinra Company used the Lifestream for years as an energy source, and did not think that they were doing something treacherous. The misguided Kadaj had believed that the planet was evil and that it needed to be stopped for the good of the people. And those such as Sephiroth had become so wretchedly twisted and insane as to try to justify their hatred of the planet and their desires to harness the Lifestream to destroy it. Even after seemingly meeting their ends and being absorbed back into the Lifestream, they continue to work at gaining their goals, by whatever means necessary. Still, sometimes it backfires.

He frowned, shielding himself as the winds gathered momentum. His hair whipped around him, blowing into his face and completely obscuring his vision. With his other hand he tried desperately to grab onto something, anything, to keep him from being pulled into the growing cyclone he had accidentally brought to life with the Lifestream. He knew what this meant. He had taken his experimentation too far, and now had unleashed a certain calamity. Whoever it selected would have their lives immeasureably altered, for good or for ill. That was why it was forbidden to revive it. Not that he cared.

Perhaps, he thought to himself with a smirk, perhaps he should accept it, leap into it. Perhaps it would work out for his best good. His powers surely exceeded a simple wind storm. He could control it, bend it to his will. Instead of falling prey to its designs, he would use them to assist him. If he planned this right, manipulating everyone's fates, he could put himself right at their head and they would not interfere with him. On the contrary, they would assist him, serve him.

He let go, allowing the tornado to pull him into it.

At once, many forces swept over him, chilling him as they wound their way up his body. He had endured physical pain many times and had been able to handle it well, but this was something he had never before experienced. Mysterious talons ripped into his flesh, as if they were trying to pull him apart from the inside out. Others gripped at his limbs and torso, their icy fingers binding him in place. Still more crept up his body, moving around his chest and face in a dark, almost seductive way. Then one took hold of his throat and started to squeeze. He gasped, his eyes beginning to water from the pressure. He struggled, trying to pull himself free, to reach up and snatch the intangible object away, but he could not move. And he could not push back the wave of panic, even though another part of him still said it was ridiculous and that he would be able to get free. Had he underestimated this force? 

None of it was as horrific as the emotional pain. The claws tore painfully into his very mind, raking through his memories. The tornado swept around him, but he was no longer certain if he was moving with it. There were whispers on the wind, calling his name, accusing him, telling him things from his past---things that were beginning to fade from his knowledge. No . . . what were they talking about? That had not happened. He had not done that. What were they calling him? Was that his name? He was not even certain.

The darkness swept over him.

* * *

The raucous laughter and drunken singing was a sudden start to his senses, immediately bringing him back to the world of the sentient. His aqua eyes flew open, focusing on the scene around him.

He was slumped in the back of an orange, leather booth, his arm across the top of it. Overhead, a tired creaking indicated an old ceiling fan, taking its last spins around the dimly lit room. In spite of the lack of light, the place seemed to be fairly active. Various rough men were gathered around tables, talking and laughing as they guzzled mugs of beer. Others stayed alone at corner booths like this one, drinking hard liquor and seeming furious by one problem or another. More still were at the counter itself, some talking to the bartender and others remaining silent. None of them were people he knew.

The locale itself was not a familiar one. Obviously it was a bar of some description, but it was not Seventh Heaven, or any other that he had been in before. But what was an even worse grievance was, he did not remember how he had got here. He felt perfectly alert, so he could not blame it on drunkenness. It was as if someone had simply carried him there as a joke when he had fallen asleep. But no one he knew would be doing that. And anyway, he had been standing up, the last he recalled. But how long ago had that been?

A commotion near the door suddenly drew his attention, and he turned in surprise to see the bouncer shoving a yelling troublemaker out with force. Apparently he was unwilling to accept nonsense of any sort. In spite of himself, the confused man found himself smirking. That was how a bouncer should be. There had been many times when his desire to have a quiet drink had been interrupted by some moron or another, and the enforcement had either been too afraid to do much, or else they had been overpowered by the ones causing the trouble. But this man was unafraid, and it seemed unlikely that someone would easily get the better of him.

The large, well-muscled man shut the door firmly and turned back, seeming to sense that he was being watched. And the other felt relief wash over him, as well as more confusion, as he took in the serious expression, the many piercings, and the dark sunglasses. He knew this man. Immediately he leaped up in the booth, bumping the table as he hurried to get out. He ignored the centerpiece as it wobbled and crashed on its side.

"Hey Rude!" he cried, manuevering his way around the tables to reach the door. "Rude, what's going on?"

The man called Rude frowned, studying the person running towards him. The redhead's clothes were even more rumpled than when he had arrived, indicating that he had probably been relaxing somewhere instead of doing his job. And that did not make Rude pleased at all. "We're supposed to be taking care of idiots like that," he grunted. "What have you been doing instead? Sneaking a drink? No wonder I was told to watch out for you."

The other frowned as well as he came to stand in front of his partner. It was not like Rude to be so cold, not to him. And his words did not even make sense. "Hey, Rude, what's up with you?" he cried. "Have you been tossing back a few drinks yourself? We were supposed to be on a mission for Rufus. And then, just like that, we pop up in some bar and you're throwing some guy out the door. You know, they actually have people here to do that."

"_We're_ those people," Rude retorted. "But frankly, I don't even know how you got the job. And who's Rufus?"

The turquoise-eyed man gawked, his mouth dropping open. "This isn't funny!" he gasped. "Come on, Rude, you have to remember Rufus! And the Turks, and . . . and me! I'm your partner, Reno!" He pointed at himself desperately, but the other's expression never changed. It was obvious that he did not remember, and did not even care. And it did not make the slightest bit of sense! He remembered that one minute they had been walking down the street, and then he had seemed to black out. This was not what he had ever thought he would regain consciousness to find.

"Then why don't you act like my partner and stop talking nonsense? Or maybe I should kick you out too." Rude gave him a look of ice. He was not happy with his job to begin with, and being assigned to work with this character was not helping his mood to improve. Was he supposed to learn patience from it? If so, it was not working.

Reno fell back, stunned. For once he found himself speechless, and he could only watch numbly as Rude turned and walked away from him. Rude had not even been this cold when they had first met. What had happened to him just in the short moment that Reno had not been aware? How had he forgotten everything, and everyone, so quickly? And why did Reno still remember? What had been different for him?

The sudden sound of shattering porcelain, accompanied by an angry yell, jerked him back to the present. He frowned in confusion, looking over at the door leading into the kitchen. Something about that scream had sounded familiar, though he could not quite place it. But now he was desperate, and he turned to quickly make his way over there. If he could find someone else he knew, maybe they could piece together what had taken place. Maybe they would even know. And then again, on the other hand, maybe they would not remember him either.

He pushed that thought out of his mind as he casually opened the kitchen door and walked inside. It was a nice enough, brightly lit place, and looked fairly clean, except for the assorted bits of what had probably once been plates that were decorating the counter and the floor around it. He raised an eyebrow, coming over closer. The dishwasher was a large man, built not unlike Rude, and as he bent over the sink, he gripped another plate in his hands. It almost looked like he wanted to crush it then and there, and he suddenly straightened up, raising the dish over his head.

Immediately Reno walked over, leaning against the counter. "Unless I missed my guess, you're supposed to wash them, not break them," he said in a cheeky tone, and smirked. He would never give any indication of how much Rude's behavior had hurt him, whether or not this was someone he knew. He would be the same old Reno.

The other man whirled around, his deep green eyes narrowed furiously and his expression twisted in a way that showed he clearly had been crying. Reno swallowed hard, taking a step back. It was not often that he was actually, visibly shaken, and now twice in the last ten minutes, he had been. It was a new record. But he had a perfect right to be bewildered. After all, this guy was supposed to be dead!

"O . . . kay," he said slowly. His thoughts raced wildly as he tried to arrive at some conclusion that would make sense, but he could find none. He ran his tongue over his lips. "So . . . do you want to tell me how come you've been resurrected to wash dishes, and why Rude out there doesn't remember me at all?" He tried to speak as calmly as his voice would allow. He had seen one welcome feature in the other's expression---he had been recognized. He supposed it was the first time he could actually say he was grateful to see Loz.

The silver-haired man glowered at the Turk. "I don't know!" he cried, setting the dish on the counter and shoving it aside. "Someone came and told me I had to wash dishes, and when I asked about Kadaj and Yazoo, he said he'd tell me if I did my job!" He felt quite helpless, and he had wanted to simply leave, but instead he had decided to try to gain information by doing as he had been told. However, he had been too upset to do a good job, and first one plate and then another had slipped from his grasp. Then in his frustration, he had thrown two more to the floor.

Reno raised an eyebrow. It was more than likely that whoever had said that did not actually know anything and was simply taking advantage of Loz's childlike trust and naivete. After all, why would anyone hold back information for the price of dishes? It did not make sense. Then again, neither did anything else. He almost felt as if he had been thrown into a world as strange as Alice's Wonderland. Or stranger. Alice had not dealt with people she knew turning against her.

"Who was this guy? The manager?" he queried now.

"I don't know," Loz pouted. "Just some guy." He eyed Reno up and down. "You say your partner doesn't remember you?"

"Nope," Reno replied, shaking his head. "He seems to think we're supposed to kick out the riffraff here or something." He shrugged. "We were just heading down some street, going to do a job for Rufus---you remember Rufus---and then we just suddenly popped up here!" He gestured wildly, nearly knocking a stack of pans to the floor.

Loz grabbed his wrist before he could succeed. "Kadaj and Yazoo and I were just walking around with Mother when they all disappeared and I was here!" he declared, and a helpless look suddenly came over him. "Now I don't know where they are at all!" he wailed.

Reno decided to temporarily ignore the strange "Mother" comment. He could not know, of course, that the brothers had adopted Aerith as their mother after they had been absorbed into the Lifestream. "Okay, okay!" he exclaimed. "Don't cry! Don't cry. Look, we'll find them! If you're here, they're probably also here, somewhere." He trailed off, his gaze darting around the kitchen. The truth was, he felt about as helpless as Loz---though he would never cry about it. Why did he and Loz remember, while Rude did not? And there was still the mystery of why Loz was alive again at all. Was everyone here? How many of them would remember? And . . . where was here?

He walked over to the nearest window and pulled up the tattered and food-stained blind. Outside, he could see the outlines of other buildings, as well as a streetlamp. "Wow, what a great view," he muttered, letting the blind drop again.

He looked back to Loz. "Why don't we get out of here and look around a bit?" he suggested. "Maybe we'll find someone else and they'll know what's going on." And then again, maybe no one knew. Maybe the ones who did have their memories were clueless, and the rest were simply going to blindly accept their new fates. Had there been some kind of brainwashing? Maybe they had all somehow ended up as part of an experiment. It sounded absurd, but not any more so than the situation in general.

"What about your partner?" Loz asked, still looking suspicious.

"It's not like he's gonna come anywhere with me," Reno answered. "Besides, he's so dedicated, he'll probably stay until this place closes." With that he turned and started walking out of the kitchen, not waiting for the other to follow. But after a moment he could hear Loz's heavy footsteps fall into place behind his.

_I must be desperate,_ he thought to himself as they went back into the main room. _I never thought I'd be forming an alliance with this guy. But oh well . . . what can I do? He remembers me, and Rude doesn't. And he seems pretty harmless right now. But if he says anything about finding "Mother" and holding a Reunion, boy, I'll . . ._

"Where are you going?"

He started, looking up at the foreboding presence standing before him. Even though he could not see Rude's eyes, he did not need to in order to know that the other was angry. Now he knew how their enemies must feel when confronted by the strong man. But he grinned, not wanting to look affected by it.

"Nice going, Rude. You really know how to scare a guy," he said, clapping him on the shoulder.

The other looked annoyed. He reached up, pushing Reno's hand away as if it was nothing more than a fly or a speck of dirt. "Don't touch me," he snapped. "Where are you going with this dishwasher? Both of you are still supposed to be on duty."

Reno shoved his hand into his pocket. "Oh, you know, we're just gonna go out and cruise around the streets, see if anybody looks familiar. Maybe we can figure out why you don't remember me anymore. I mean, seriously, don't you find it the least bit weird that you're suddenly a bouncer in a bar? You're a Turk, Rude! One of the great Shinra Company's Turks!" He could hear that some of his inner desperation had slipped into his voice, but he ignored it. Maybe it would even help Rude realize that he was sincere. Still, somehow, he doubted it.

"I've been working here for five years," Rude said flatly. "But you were just hired tonight. I have a mind to tell the manager it's not going to work out."

Reno bit back the shocked retorts he wanted to fling out. Five years? That was impossible! Brainwashing was sounding more and more like a reasonable option. But who was behind it, and why? "You know the manager?" he exclaimed instead. "Who is he, anyway? He told Loz here that if he did all the dishes, he'd tell him where his brothers are. Isn't that kinda weird?"

Rude grunted, simply looking at Reno in silence.

Reno glowered back. He had had enough. He did not have to take this from Rude. Now his confusion and hurt feelings were spilling out in frustration. "Hey, I can take a hint!" he muttered, starting to walk around his former partner.

Rude grabbed his shoulder. "If you walk out that door, you won't be coming back," he threatened.

Reno shrugged him off. "Fine!" he snapped, storming past him and to the door. He could hear Loz hurrying after him, but he did not want to stop to wait for the other. Now he just wanted to get out of here and away from this nightmare. Yet he knew that the nightmare would be all around him. There would be no escape. They were not in Edge any more. Were they even still on Gaia?

"You're just gonna leave him?"

The redhead frowned, keeping one hand on the edge of the door as he looked back at the puzzled Loz. "Hey, he wants me to leave, I'll leave," he retorted. "It's not like I'll do any good staying here." He knew that he was not helping matters by losing his own temper, but since he had, he needed to go away until he calmed down. And maybe he would be able to get some answers if he found some of the others. He walked through the door, not bothering to hold it open. If Loz still wanted to come, he could follow easily enough.

And follow, Loz did. He dashed after the Turk whom he had once fought, desperate to catch up. He did not hold any ill feelings towards Reno personally, and right now the important thing was to find his brothers. But after seeing the way Rude had acted toward Reno, the silver-haired man was growing worried. He could not help the fears that were building within his heart.

"What if . . . what if my brothers act like that?" he could not help exclaiming. "What if they don't know me?" Reno and Rude had been best friends when Loz and the others had fought against them. Now Rude seemed to despise the redhead. And if it could happen to them, could it happen to Kadaj and Yazoo? He did not want them to hate him, and each other! He did not know that he could bear that happening.

Reno was about to say, somewhat sarcastically, that they would know Loz, that they would not be able to forget Loz, but then he stopped, shutting his mouth. This whole mess was disgusting. How did he know what Kadaj and Yazoo would be like here? For all he would know, maybe they had formed a singing duo and would be annoyed by Loz. Maybe they would kick him out if he found them. After his experience, Reno did not feel that he could reassure Loz, even in a sardonic way. He was furious.

He sighed. "Well . . . who knows," he muttered. "We've ended up in some strange world, working in a bar, and my best friend pretty much just kicked me out. So . . . I guess it's possible that Kadaj and Yazoo won't remember you." He paused, hearing a pronounced sniffle and a choked sob. "Don't cry, Loz," he said with another sigh as he turned the corner.

* * *

He wandered down the deserted streets, clutching a gloved hand to the side of his head. His ears were ringing, and the blow he had somehow taken to his temple was sending such splitting pain behind his eyes that he could barely stand to keep them open. He did not remember being struck; he did not even have any idea where he was right now. Everything had been warm and soft and gentle, and now suddenly it was cold and rough and cruel. And he was alone.

Where was everyone? Why was it so dark, even when he could stand to force his eyes open? He could only barely make out the outlines of buildings, and the rumbling of the thunderclouds in the sky signaled an oncoming rain. This sent panic ripping into his heart that he did not even understand. He was afraid of the rain. Why? Was it because of the noise, or the lightning, or because it was cold and wet? None of that sounded right. All he knew was that he had to get away from it. He had to get inside one of those buildings. But they looked so dark, too---dark and lonely.

He turned in the opposite direction, running with all his might. "Mother!" he screamed desperately, his short silver hair hitting against his face and into his eyes. All the buildings were empty! No one was around at all. Why? There should be people somewhere! This was such an eerie place. Was he the only one who existed here?

"Yazoo! Loz!" His desperate voice echoed off the unwelcoming edifaces as he fled around a corner. He remembered his brothers, he knew that they should be there, but they were not. And . . . and Mother, she was gone too. He had been left by himself, with his scattered and fragmented memories. He recalled very little about his life other than those people, and someone else. . . . Someone dark and cunning, someone who had the love that he wanted so badly from Mother. . . .

Suddenly lights were shining directly at him---lights that were much too bright. He screamed in pain, his hands flying over his eyes as he tried to blindly run past. Vaguely he was aware of a furious horn blaring at him. It was a car, and it was too close to him. He would not make it past in time. It clipped his leg and he started to go down.

But he never did.

After a moment he opened his eyes, stunned that he was still alive. Now he was hovering far above the car, and he could feel strong arms around his waist. A gentle flapping indicated the presence of wings, and a large white feather floated into his line of vision. What had caught him? Some kind of an angel? He looked up, trying to see.

Worried blue eyes looked back down at him from amid a mess of bright red hair. "Are you okay?" the creature gasped in a soft, male voice. "The car would have run you over if I hadn't found you. I heard you screaming!" It was obvious that, whatever it was, it was completely harmless. He could tell that from its tone of voice and the eyes, shining with pure innocence.

Now that he knew he was safe, the silver-haired man's defenses took over. Whatever this was, it was a stranger, and he would not let it see how insecure he was in this new world. He frowned. "I'm fine," he answered. "But who or what are you?" He watched as the ground came closer again. The being was slowly coming back down, and now it landed them on their feet on the sidewalk. He raised a hand again, rubbing at the offending part of his head. The sudden trip had only increased the headache and the dizziness.

Quickly it released the other and walked around to face him. It was definitely a humanoid creature, and actually looked completely human, save for the two wings sprouting from its back---a white angel wing on its right, and a leathery demon wing on its left. But he was not terribly stunned by the discovery. After all, that someone he vaguely remembered had a black angel wing, so it was not unheard of.

It spoke again, smiling brightly. "I'm Alexander!" it exclaimed. "I'm a doppelganger." He tilted his head to the side. "Who are you?" he asked curiously.

The other thought this over for a moment before giving it a quiet half-smile that also looked like his trademark smirks. "Well, Alexander," he said smoothly, "I should thank you for saving my life. I'm Kadaj."

* * *

Cloud's fingers flew over the keyboard as he typed up the letters that needed to go out to their prospective business associates. It did not take him long, which was one of the reasons why he had been able to rise up in the company's ranks to become the assistant to the president. The older man had been impressed with not only his swift typing skills, but with his serious intelligence, and the way he had of analyzing a situation. Cloud still remembered how the other had given a quiet smirk, saying that Cloud would be an asset to the corporation. And Cloud had felt honored.

For years he had looked up to and admired the sharp, calculating CEO of this corporation. He had gotten a job here five years ago as a lowly copy boy, determined to make his way up the ladder until he could work directly with the other. And that had impressed the president too, after seeing how the younger man had done just that. He had told Cloud that he had the makings of a good businessman, and had decided to take the blonde under his figurative wing as a sort of apprentice. From there, he had been teaching Cloud everything he knew. And the former copy boy had accepted it all eagerly. He was no longer a nothing, a nobody. He was becoming somebody, and he was learning from the best.

He looked up as the office door opened and the president walked in, shutting it behind him. He was just coming from a long conference, and he was slumping forward, rubbing his forehead. He was too worn-out to bother standing up straight, and that could only mean one thing. Cloud frowned, leaning on the desk.

"Bad day?" he asked.

The other grunted, brushing a long strand of hair out of his face as he went over to his own desk. "Turk Enterprises still doesn't want to do business with us," he answered, sinking down into the plush chair. He closed his eyes in pleasure and relief, feeling the familiar softness against his back. In this position, he continued to speak. "It was Rufus Shinra whom they sent to speak with us, and you know what a hard bargain he drives. I still say that if we could get an interview with President Tseng, we'd have a chance."

Cloud narrowed his eyes, nodding slowly. Only after he had done so did he realize what an absurd action it was, since his boss was not facing him and his eyes were closed anyway. He looked down at his clipboard and the paperwork. "I'm almost done typing these letters," he announced. It would not take away the president's frustration over the situation with Turk Enterprises, but he hoped that it would please him at least a little. "I think some of these companies really are possibilities."

"Yes, I imagine they are." It would be Turk Enterprises that would be the real feather in their cap, but the tycoon knew not to ignore the other choices. After all, who knew but what they could be surprised. He had learned that only through a lifetime of carefully planned business ventures, and it was a valuable lesson, one that he had passed on to his protégé.

He could hear the shuffle of paper, but did not bother to look up. "One of these newest offers is from Industrial Illusions," Cloud reported now.

This got the older man's attention. "Aren't they a children's gaming company?" he said, unable to hide the derision that crept into his voice. He sat up straight, swiveling his chair to face his assistant's desk.

Cloud shrugged. "They're a gaming company, yeah, but even a lot of adults seem to like the stuff they make. Most of the people who are really serious about the games, and who enter the tournaments, are teenagers to adults. And I2 is one of the most widely recognized and successful international corporations," he added, knowing that this would interest the president. And sure enough, when he sneaked a glance in that direction, he could see his boss perking up. He smirked slightly to himself. "Do you want me to type a reply to them?"

"Why are they interested in us?" the other returned, not answering the question.

Cloud glanced over the letter again. "They like the technology we offer," he answered. "And the CEO says that he thinks we'd find theirs useful."

"It's possible." He crossed one leg over the other. "Tell them we'll set up a meeting."

Cloud nodded, placing the letter to the side of the computer as he opened a new document in the word processor. Out of habit, he read some of the response aloud as he typed.

"'Thank you for your generous proposal of business to the Jenova Corporation. The company president, Mr. Sephiroth Jenova, would like to arrange a meeting to further discuss the possibilities with you. . . ."


	2. The Dreams Begin

**Notes: Thanks again to everyone who's helped with plot and occupation suggestions! And thanks to all reviewers!  
**

**Chapter Two**

The concert had gone relatively well, all things considering. First they had nearly been rained out, and they had been in the process of changing the venue when the weather had cleared. Then the opening band had cancelled, and they had desperately looked for a replacement. Not finding one, the event's main attraction had decided to instead do a longer show himself. His manager had protested, but the singer had prevailed, as usual. The audience had loved it, so he felt that it had been worthwhile, despite how tired he now felt.

The last thing he wanted right now was for his manager to bother him about his actions, and so as he went back to his dressing room, he made sure to lock the door behind him. Then, smirking, he lay down on the soft, deep green couch, letting his silver locks fall around his face as he draped an arm over his eyes.

He had everything that someone of his young age could want---fame, fortune, power, and a certain kind of freedom. Yet, he wondered just how free he was. The life of a celebrity was complicated. There were always various things he needed to take care of---photo shoots, meetings, planning public appearances, and of course, writing and recording his music. He could not deny that a certain part of him enjoyed being in the spotlight. Still, in these quiet moments, he wondered why.

He had been found as a teenager by his manager, declared to be a "prodigy", and had quickly been whisked into the beginnings of the life he now was experiencing. As an orphan, there had never been parents to agree or disagree with this arrangement, and those running the orphanage had been pleased to be rid of him. He had always been different, they said---quiet and distant. Not shy, or afraid, but simply not caring to speak. He had been passed over for adoption many times because of that aspect of his personality. Maybe they had thought that by letting him be taken by this Cid Highwind person, he would become more outgoing.

Well . . . he was not. He was polite enough to his fans, and they adored and admired him, but he was still the same distant, sarcastic person that he had always been. He never let anyone into his heart, and even though he had ended up on a date or two with an up and coming star from a rival band, he was simply not interested in continuing the relationship. He had told her so right before the concert had begun, in fact, and he imagined that Cid knew by now. She had probably gone right to him in a huff.

Not that Cid would be that upset by it. He felt that it would ruin the singer's mysterious image, to be dating someone. Not to mention that the girl would probably be hated by the many fans who wanted to date him themselves. But that was not his problem. He just wanted to live his life as he saw fit.

What he wished he could figure out was, How did he want to live his life? He had been taking things as they came, just accepting them blindly, and yet something had made him act on the realization that he did not want a significant other. It seemed a large step somehow, but he did not know what would follow.

Strange, that he was actually lonely, in spite of deliberately pushing people away from him all the time. After all, he thought to himself in amusement, why not just let them come, if he wanted company? Maybe they were not the kind of company he wanted. But maybe he would never find that kind of company, either. People did not get along well with him. Though he knew that he did not get along well with other people, either. They seemed to have a mutual misunderstanding. And so he had always been a loner.

"Hey! Is this thing locked again?"

He sighed, half-smirking to himself. It was the knock he had expected. "Yes," he said flatly in his soft voice. "It's locked because I wanted some peace and quiet." Especially after hearing, and taking part in, something as loud and noisy as the heavy metal concert. His ears were still ringing.

A curse from the other side of the object. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened tonight!" Cid's accented voice insisted. He was probably leaning on the door, wanting to see if he could just break it down. One time he actually had done that, but he had been a lot angrier then. And his protégé had let him know that such behavior would not be accepted.

The singer sighed again, suddenly feeling even more weary. "Then talk through the door," he answered.

"Everyone'll hear," Cid objected.

"When have you cared?"

A dry chuckle. "You got that right, I don't. Alright, fine, Yazoo, I'll talk through the door." A pause. "Look, you coulda worn your voice out by singing that long! You know what your doctor's said. . . ."

"It's just a guideline to follow. I'm perfectly healthy." Yazoo did not move from his spot on the couch, nor did he intend to. "I'd say it makes up for how little I use my voice otherwise. There shouldn't be a problem."

Silence. "Are you being sarcastic again?" Cid grumbled.

"Of course." Yazoo rolled onto his side, facing the largely empty room.

"You just don't care, do you."

"Not really, no."

A loud, exasperated sigh, followed by another curse. "What am I gonna do with you?" Cid cried then. "You don't care about anything! You even broke it off with the girl! What was her name---Shana?"

"Sharon."

"Yeah, her. Not that I thought it'd be good for your image, datin' and all, but why'd you do it, Yazoo?"

"You know why."

"Yeah, you don't care about her or about romance! Add 'em to the list! Do you even care about being a singer? Or your fans? Why'd you do the long concert?" He could hear Cid placing his hand on the wood of the door as he leaned forward. "Was it really for them? It's not like anyone was expecting it of you!"

"I know." Yazoo actually wondered himself why he had done it. At the time, it had just seemed the proper thing to do. And so he had done it, almost mechanically. Yes, that was a good word for it. He supposed he felt like he was going through life on auto-pilot. He was not happy. And he supposed that was largely his own fault. Sometimes it just all seemed so pointless. He felt as though he did not belong at all, but there was nowhere else for him to go. He could only live the life that had been set in front of him.

"That's all the answer I'm gonna get out of you, isn't it." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Yes, I'd say so."

Cid muttered. "Well, get some sleep or somethin'," he said, starting to turn away from the door.

Yazoo did not answer. He reached up, bringing the fancy couch pillow closer to him. He should get up and get ready to go back to the hotel, but he did not have the strength to even move. It was not a physical exhaustion, he supposed, but more mental. It had all caught up with him tonight. They had to leave in the morning, to travel to the next city that was part of the concert tour. Right now, he just wished it was over and done.

Sighing softly, he let his eyelids sink closed. He was only going to rest them for a minute. But instead he ended up slipping into a blank and restless sleep.

* * *

_She was kneeling, her back to him. Her hands were clasped, and she was obviously in the act of praying. She did not seem to know that he was there, above her, watching her every move. But that was all the better for him, and too bad for her. It was all over now. She would not have the chance to complete her supplication._

_He jumped, his sword held high over his head as he dropped down directly in back of her. It easily cut through the ribbon around her hair, and the cloth fell free as he harshly jabbed his long weapon into her helpless body. He heard a choked gasp break free from her lips as he pulled the blade out again._

His eyes flew open with a start, bringing him back into reality. His head was down, and he could feel a strange, bumpy sensation against his cheek. Next to him, he could hear the familiar hum of his computer, which had automatically gone on Stand By. His left hand, to the side of the keyboard, was still on the mouse. He could see it through the silver strands of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes.

Slowly he pulled himself into a sitting position. There was no girl here, no atrocious and cruel murder being committed. He had fallen asleep at his desk, that was all. He remembered now. He had taken off his suit jacket---draping it over the back of the soft chair---then had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt sleeves, pushing them halfway up his forearms, before settling down to take care of the rest of the day's work. And he must have become so exhausted from a workday that had already been too long, that he had simply dozed.

He ran a shaking hand through his long bangs. The computer was coming back to life, after sensing that the keys on the keyboard had been released. And he had probably touched the mouse again while taking his hand away from it. He watched, feeling blank, as the screen changed color and asked for his login prompt. Nevermind that for now.

He pushed himself up from the chair, crossing the room to the attached bathroom and turning the knob. He stepped inside, flicking on the light as he went to the sink and turned the cold water tap. Cupping his hands under the thin stream, he watched and waited until they were filled, then leaned down and splashed the icy liquid over his face. That should wake him up, if nothing else.

He turned the tap off again, straightening up as he reached for a towel. Pathetic, he thought to himself as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He actually looked pale. And over nothing more than a dream, too. No matter how realistic it seemed, it was just that---only a dream. He knew what he had been doing all his life, and it did not include jumping from tremendous heights to impale young women.

He ran the towel roughly over his face before tossing it back on the counter and walking out of the bathroom.

As he came back to his desk, he cast a cursory glance at the couch where his assistant had been working. Cloud was still there, but his mind was not. He had fallen asleep himself at some point, kicking off his shoes before stretching the length of the couch. One arm hung over the side of the furniture, his hand very nearly hitting the floor. But he did not care, and continued to sleep. He looked peaceful enough. Cloud never let much bother him. He was levelheaded and practical, which was why Sephiroth had found him to be capable for the job.

The silver-haired man sank down into his chair again, quickly typing the password that unlocked his computer's settings and desktop. Nevermind foolish nightmares now. He had to finish the work he had started before his untimely nap. And then the both of them should go home, unless they were going to stay in the office to sleep.

Cloud did not look as though he would wake up anytime soon, at any rate. Well, that was fine for him, if he was having a normal slumber devoid of strange dreams. But right now, even if Sephiroth thought he could sleep, he did not want to.

* * *

It was not long before the rain was coming down in furious sheets, drumming against the roofs, windows, and doors of buildings, homes, and cars. Most sensible people were rushing to get to shelter, and that was exactly what Kadaj wanted to do now. The rain was still filling him with an immense and illogical panic, and he ran under the nearest awning to get away from it. Still it pelted around him, and he pressed himself against the wall of the crumbling building, his heart racing. Why would it not go away? Why did it insist on staying? Was it mocking him?

"Are you okay?"

He looked up with a start, seeing the concerned Alexander creature peering in at him. His eyes were wide again, and concerned, and Kadaj suddenly felt foolish.

"Of course," he answered coolly. "I just don't like to get wet." That was true, and hopefully would not make him sound ridiculous. He pushed himself away from the brick wall. "So, do you know a place where we could go now?"

Alexander tilted his head to the side. "Well, there's a diner a few blocks away," he said slowly, walking under the awning as well. "I could fly us there, or if you want, we could teleport. . . ."

"Teleport?" Kadaj repeated, the incredulity slipping into his voice.

Alexander nodded enthusiastically. "I can't do it much, and I can't go very far, but we could go _somewhere_!" he chirped. "I kinda don't want to get wet either. It takes my wings a long time to dry out." He glanced over at the feathered one, which already looked a bit damp. Quickly he brought it closer around himself. There was not that much protection to be had from this makeshift umbrella above them. It had already gone through more than its share of rain storms.

Kadaj did not want to take much time to think it through. After all, in his current situation, he did not have many choices. And anyway, this thing had proven capable and trustworthy. "Fine," he agreed. "Let's go. It looks like it's only going to get worse." He stepped closer to the other being. Hopefully his apprehension would not be that obvious. The rain should not bother him so much. But the doppelganger seemed oblivious.

"Okay!" Alexander exclaimed, and placed his hands on the silver-haired young man's shoulders.

It was strange, how suddenly it happened. Everything simply vanished---the building, the awning, the rain---and was instantly replaced by warmth, light, and dry walls around them. Kadaj looked up with a start, taking in the diner's features. It had an odd, almost cozy or nostalgic feeling to it, as an old song played on the jukebox in the back. The floor was covered with red and white tiles, and there were framed photos on the wall, advertising Coca Cola as well as movies and stars from the past. Ceiling fans turned calmly overhead, keeping the air circulating. It seemed quite tranquil.

Kadaj had never been in such a place. Curiously he walked forward, touching the tables and chairs as he made his way around them to a booth near the back. It was just dawning on him now that he was hungry, and he wondered if this creature would buy something for them both. He did not have any money, and if he did, he imagined it would be in Gaia's currency. Somehow, he was certain that this was not Gaia.

He slid into the booth. From here he had a perfect view of the entire place. He would be able to observe everything that happened without seeming conspicuous. Then again, how conspicuous was it to suddenly pop in with a winged being at his side? He stole a glance at the few other customers. None of them looked as though they had even noticed. Maybe they had not, or maybe this Alexander came here often and they were used to him.

Alexander hopped in on the other side. "A waitress will come soon," he said cheerfully, and picked up the menu laid down on the table. "What would you like to eat?"

Kadaj shrugged. "It's a cold night. Maybe some hot chocolate . . . and a donut," he mused. Would they have such food here? If not, they were certainly missing something. One of the few specific memories he had was of him and his brothers Yazoo and Loz sitting in a café with such food as they made their plans to find "Mother." Kadaj and Yazoo had been suspicious of the new edibles, but Loz had insisted that the donuts were delicious. Finally the other two had tried them as well, coming to the same conclusion.

Alexander looked happy at the thought, rather than confused. "That sounds good!" he declared.

Kadaj looked him over again, thoughtfully. Would such a being have money to buy anything? Maybe Alexander was expecting that Kadaj would have the funds. The redhead did not look as though he would have a job, though of course appearances could be deceiving.

"Do you come here often?" the green-eyed young man queried casually.

Alexander nodded. "Usually it's when I'm waiting for Dartz to get done working," he replied. He quickly looked at the booth behind him, apparently checking to make sure no one was in it, and then spread his wings over the top of the plush material with a flourish. Kadaj had to admit he was somewhat amused by this, as well as mystified.

"Don't those fold up?" he asked, pointing at the extra appendages.

"Well, they can," Alexander said with reluctance, "but I like to keep them out. I just feel so cramped if I don't." He set the menu down, curiously looking out at the other booths and tables. Maybe he was looking for the elusive waitress.

Kadaj found he did not care that much. But he did want to learn more about this city. "Who's Dartz?" he said idly.

Alexander smiled again. "He's like my father!" he exclaimed. "He helped me when my wing was really hurt." He indicated the angel wing to his right, and under the bright lights it was clear that it was irreparably deformed and scarred. Kadaj could imagine how much that must have hurt. "He let me stay with him while I got better," the doppelganger continued, "and then I just kept staying! He said I can be here as long as I want. So I have a family now." He blinked, studying his new acquaintance. "Do you have a family?" he asked innocently.

Kadaj gave a quick and curt nod. "I have two older brothers, and Mother," he proclaimed with a soft smile.

"Oh, so you can go home to them," Alexander deduced. He blinked in confusion when Kadaj shook his head.

"No, I can't," he replied. "I don't know where my brothers are right now. And Mother . . . I don't ever have her to go home to. She's all around me, all around everyone." Amid his fragmented memories, he was confusing Jenova and Aerith as "Mother"---which was understandable, since for so long he had thought of Jenova as his mother and had only been with Aerith after his death. Now, he was deciding, it seemed clear to him why he had ended up in this strange place. It was so obvious, that he could not believe he had not thought of it earlier. But then again, it was not easy to think of things logically when running from rain and nearly being hit by cars.

The creature tilted his head to the side. "She's dead?" he wondered worriedly, biting his lip.

"Oh no, she's very much alive. She's always helping me to strive towards my mission in life." He crossed his arms on the table. How long was it going to take a waitress to come? Business seemed slow, so it should not be taking this much time. If this was the way it always was, then Alexander must be more patient than Kadaj.

The other was fascinated. "What's your mission?" he asked, the confusion over "Mother" all being forgotten. "I know I used to think my mission was to kill Alister. . . ." He traced a pattern on the table with a finger. "But then I realized he didn't want to die, so now my mission is to protect him and keep him with his friends!" He smiled triumphantly.

Kadaj was not a great deal interested in his acquaintance's words. After all, Alexander's mission did not have any connection with Kadaj's. Though, he decided, it was good to know more about whose company he was in, and the kind of people with whom his company associated. So, for that reason, he should probably pay attention. At the same time, however, he saw nothing wrong with revealing his own goals.

"I have to help Mother create a new world," he answered, smirking in a pleased way. "She's unhappy with the worlds that exist, where people suffer so much of the time. She wants to create the Promised Land, a paradise, where everyone is happy."

The redhead looked at him, awe spread across his features. "That's a nice idea!" he exclaimed. "I don't like how people are so mean here. . . ." But then he frowned worriedly, biting his lip. "Dartz tried to make a new world once," he said slowly, not sure how this would be received by his companion. "He wanted there to be a paradise too. But he was using this thing called the Orichalcos, and it started controlling him, and then he started taking people's souls away, and he just ended up hurting people instead of being able to make a paradise. . . ."

"I wouldn't be using something like that," was the undaunted reply. "The last time I tried, I used children who had been affected by the geostigma. They had become my brethren, because of it." As he spoke, the words seemed to come to him, unbidden, and once he said them, he knew they were true. These things had happened to him! Mother was helping him remember, because she was why he had been sent here! It all made sense now.

The childlike being pondered over this. "Geostigma," he repeated slowly. "It sounds like it would hurt. . . ."

"Because of the planet not liking Mother's plan," the green-eyed young man interrupted.

"Oh. . . ." Alexander did not understand that, but instead of asking, he moved on to the next question he had. "What about the kids' families?" he asked. "Wouldn't they be upset, and be missing them? Maybe they wouldn't want their kids to be used like that by your mother. . . ."

"They were upset," confirmed the other. "But they didn't understand what an honor it was for their children to be chosen. If they'd really understood, they would have been happy to think that their flesh and blood was going to have a part in creating the new world."

The blue-eyed creature thought about this. It made a certain sense, he supposed, but something still bothered him about the plan. "What happened?" he asked.

"The planet struck back again." The silver-haired young man glared at the table, as if pouting. He did not like the memories he was getting back now. They were unpleasant. "And I . . . well, Sephiroth, fought Cloud, and lost. I was mortally wounded in the attempt." Subconsciously a hand drifted to his side as the remembrance of that pain swirled over him. The multiple sword wounds had hurt so much, but more than that, he had ached over failing Mother.

"You mean both you and Sephiroth fought Cloud?" the other asked, trying to understand. "And if you were mortally wounded, doesn't that mean you died?" He stared at his acquaintance, his eyes wide and round. This teenager did not seem dead; he seemed very much alive---and anyway, how could a dead person drink hot chocolate and eat donuts?

"I'm Sephiroth's vessel," was the response, and a look of indignation and disgust---mixed with sadness---passed over his youthful features. Yes, Sephiroth. That was the name of the one whom he despised. Sephiroth had always had what Kadaj had longed for and had never achieved. "Mother loves him best. She doesn't think I can help her all on my own." He paused, digesting the second question. "And yes, I did die," he confirmed. "But I was restored to life again, on this new planet, so Mother must want this planet too."

Alexander's wings drooped, and he sadly studied his friend---for he wanted to call the other his friend. "It seems like a mother should love all her kids the same," he said. He did not like to speak against someone so highly idolized by the green-eyed young man, but he could see how upset the other felt, even if it would be emphatically denied.

"It doesn't matter," he answered now, and the redhead had really half-expected it. "The only thing that's important is what Mother wants. If I only exist to be her and Sephiroth's puppet, then so be it."

"I think it does matter!" cried the blue-eyed creature earnestly, leaning over the table. "I don't think that's really what you want at all! I think you're only doing it because you want your mother's love so badly! You're hoping that she'll be happy if you do what she wants, and then she'll love you best. . . ." He looked into the startled emerald eyes, pleading for his words to sink in.

It took a moment for the other to fully grasp what he was being told. But then his eyes flashed in outrage. "That's not true!" he yelled. "Don't talk about Mother like that! You don't know her!" He glowered, turning away from his companion to look into the aisle of the diner. "I don't like you anymore." What right did this doppelganger have, to pass judgement on matters he knew nothing about? It was not his business. Certainly Mother was not his business!

The redhead's wings drooped further. He could not stand it when people were angry at him, and it was even more difficult to bear if he knew he had hurt them. Kadaj was obviously hurt. But since he had not left the booth, Alexander took courage. Slowly he moved to the other side of the seat, behind the other, and hugged him. "I still like you!" he exclaimed, feeling his friend start from shock. He laid his head against the leather-clad shoulder blades. "I still like you, and I want you to be happy. That's all. . . . I'm sorry I hurt you. . . ."

The silver-haired teenager was still silent, having frozen from the creature's innocent touch. He was still angry about the other's words, but he was also puzzled. Why did this winged being seem to like him? He had not done anything to deserve it.

"I'd like us to be friends. . . ."

Now Kadaj gave a short laugh and a shrug. He had not expected that, either. "I don't have friends."

The blue-eyed young man was undaunted. "Well, then, you can start now!" he said in his childlike way.

The wingless boy turned slightly, looking over his shoulder. This doppelganger certainly was persistant. "Why?" he asked with a frown.

Alexander looked back earnestly. "Because I think you're a nice person," he declared. "And . . . I think you're like me!" He paused, his gaze darting around the room as he contemplated how best to explain himself. But then he met Kadaj's questioning eyes again, and the creature seemed to have arrived at a conclusion. "You want to make the people you love happy, and you want to be loved."

Kadaj thought this over. It was true, he supposed. And it was odd---being around this doppelganger was starting to remind him of being with Loz. Alexander did not seem to be a crier, but he had the same childlike naivete and trust. Kadaj missed his brothers, very deeply. They had never been apart from each other for long periods of time, and they had almost always known where they all were located. When they had not, they had been able to use their cellphones to contact each other. But right now Kadaj was all alone. He had no idea where Yazoo and Loz were, and though he would not admit it, it worried him.

"Alright," he said at last. "We can be friends." He wondered if he would regret this. But the deed was done now, and he would not take back his words.

Alexander looked ecstatic. "You can meet Dartz, and you can stay at our house tonight!" he exclaimed, pulling away to sit normally again. "And in the morning, I'll help you look for your brothers!"

Kadaj was about to reply when a new voice broke into the conversation.

"Hi, and welcome to The Jitterbug Café . . . _whoa!_"

He started, looking up at the perky, yet suddenly panicked, female tones. The gangly waitress was coming toward them, and on roller skates, no less. She was wearing a blue, stiff skirt with a poodle design on it, as well as a white blouse, and her cropped black hair flew into her eyes as she tried desperately to stay upright. Throwing her arms out as leverage, she tipped first one way, then the other. Kadaj might have laughed, had she not been heading straight for their table.

The collision was unavoidable. As the clumsy girl crashed into the table, the entire thing rocked and slid. The centerpiece flew into the air, very narrowly missing Kadaj as he ducked out of the way. Alexander gave a startled yelp, and in a moment, several large, white feathers floated into view. Kadaj dared to look up, still shielding his head in case of another identified flying object. The girl was now sitting on Alexander's lap, and both looked dazed.

Now the silver-haired teen did laugh. The whole thing was so ridiculous, so preposterous, and frankly, so amusing. "I hope all of the girls here aren't as klutzy as you," he snickered, "but I guess they couldn't be, or this place wouldn't still be standing."

"Hey! Ohhh!" The girl leaped up, instantly over her dizziness. She clenched her fists at her sides, her dark eyes flashing in outrage. "You'd better watch what you say to me! I'm stronger than I look! I could take you down just like that!" She snapped her fingers, and then suddenly gasped, her eyes widening. Kadaj stared at her, bewildered. He saw recognition in her eyes. But he did not know her.

"It's you!" she squealed in horror, pointing a furious finger at him. "You're that insect who turned into Sephiroth and fought Cloud! But how can you be here? You're _dead_!" Her eyes became even more round, which Kadaj had not thought would be possible. "Are you a ghost?"

Kadaj continued to look at her. She was an annoying, excitable girl, but he wanted to know how she knew what she did. Obviously she was someone from home. And because of that, he would not brush her off, as he would do otherwise. "First, answer a question for me. Are you one of Cloud's friends?" he asked.

She glowered. "I don't have to tell anything to you!" she snapped. "But I wanna know why we're here at all!"

He leaned back in the booth. "Then right now, we have the same goal," he said smoothly.

"Can't we all just get along?" Alexander spoke up now. He reached for the centerpiece, quickly setting it back on the table before brushing away the large, loose feathers. They scattered to the floor like oblong snowflakes.

The girl whirled to look at him, as if noticing him for the first time. "Where did you get those wings?" she gasped. "And hey, I'm the one who'll havta clean up those big feathers, you know!" She discovered a moment too late that she had turned too fast.

Kadaj sighed as he watched her legs fly out from under her, bringing her lanky form down hard on the floor in a sitting position. "That's really getting old," he remarked, propping himself up on an elbow. This was the strangest evening he had experienced in quite some time. It was not especially pleasing, either.


	3. The Physician

**Notes: Thanks again to everyone who has helped with this! For this chapter, I must especially credit Stacey for inspiring the opening scene, and the Reno and Yuffie interaction, and Lisa for ideas concerning the one shadowing Reno, and the exchange between Yuffie and the doctor at the end.  
**

* * *

** Chapter Three**

_Everything around him had been set on fire. The flames leaped into the night sky, coloring it deep shades of orange and red as sparks flew in all directions. He gasped, shielding his eyes and backing away. He did not especially want any of those embers to fly into his eyes, or onto his skin or clothes._

_This was some kind of a village. Through the smoke and fire, he could see houses and other buildings burning. People were screaming, running in all directions, and others lay prone on the ground, their lifeblood spilling into the grass and dirt. Obviously this had been a deliberate act. Who had done this? Who could have been so completely heartless and cruel, or mad, as to commit something this horrific?_

_He looked up as a middle-aged woman ran towards him, her eyes wide in panic. Her hair had come loose of the bun it had been in, and auburn wisps blew against her face, mixing with the blood and the tearstains that were drying on her cheeks and forehead. Her clothes were torn, and another person's blood was adorning them._

_"What happened?" he called as she neared his location. She did not answer, instead seeming to look through him. She came closer, and closer still . . ._

_. . . And passed right through his body. He stared in shock as her own form vanished completely. How had she done that? What was going on here? Was he hallucinating? He whirled, looking behind him. She was continuing to run, as if he had never been in her way. He frowned deeply. Maybe he never had been. This was a dream, was it not? Maybe none of this was really happening._

_And yet it seemed so real. He could feel the heat from the fire as he made his way forward again. How could it feel any more real, outside of actually burning his flesh? Where was this place? What sort of madman could have done something this abominable?_

_He squinted. Up ahead, he could see a dark figure emerging from a wall of flames. At his left side he held a sword, longer than any the dreamer could recall seeing, and dripping with blood. The other man was dressed entirely in black, save for the large, silverish-white shoulder armor he bore. His long hair whipped around his face, the bangs half-hiding his eyes. This was like looking in a mirror, only much more eerie. As the first man came closer, the second looked up, his expression twisted in malice, hatred, and sheer insanity. It was himself._

_"What is this?" the first screamed, his voice strangled._

_The second's expression only became more wild. "Don't you understand yet?" he smirked. "I'm the one who did this. And I'm you."_

_The first clenched a fist tightly, his eyes narrowing. "No!" he protested. "No, I didn't do this! I couldn't have! I . . . I'm a businessman! I've never been here, and I wouldn't set fire to it even if I came!" He reached out, grabbing the other by his leather-clad upper arms. "What kind of trick is this?"_

_The second leaned in, his green eyes glittering with madness. "You've been blind. Your life's a lie. I'm the real you," he murmured. "You don't remember right now, but you will. And when you do, this will happen again, but not only to a small place like Nibelheim. It will be the entire world."_

_Anger and outrage washed over the dreamer. What nonsense was this? It could not be true! He would not commit an atrocity of this magnitude. He would not kill innocent people. He had not taken leave of his senses, as this man obviously had done, and he was not going to do so._

_Now he shook his twin. "Can't you see what you've done?" he cried. "Can't you see the horror you've left for all these people? Don't you regret it at all?"_

_The other did not seem to mind being shaken. Instead he brought the long sword up, holding it in front of the first's face. "I've never regretted anything that I've done," he answered. "It had to be done. Call me evil if you like, or an avenging angel. It doesn't matter." He grinned again in a twisted way. "What does matter, is that you should remember how to use this." Now he thrust it, forcing the sane one to let go and back up. The second only advanced again, still bearing the blade in his left hand as he moved forward deliberately._

_"Take it," he ordered. "Take it and show me that you can use it."_

_The first continued to move away, a certain panic rising within him. No, he would not take it! He would not take hold of such a weapon, that had been stained with innocent blood! But he had to wonder . . . was the real reason he did not want it, because he was afraid he would indeed know how to use it? That was absurd. He knew that he had never held a sword._

_"I won't take it!" he snapped back._

_The insane man, whom the first refused to think of as himself, only smirked more. Without warning he turned his weapon so that the hilt was pointing outward, and threw it. Out of reflex, the other jumped back, holding out his hands to catch it. The sword sailed into his grasp, and he curled his strong fingers around the hilt._

_He was both stunned and angry at how natural it felt. He wanted to throw the weapon to the ground, leaving it for this creature to pick up again, but it would not leave his hands. He gripped it tightly, threateningly, pointing it at his double._

_"You like it, don't you," the second grinned. "Keep it. It's yours. And of course that makes it mine, too."_

_Fury overcame all his other feelings then. He thrust the blade down, into the dirt, glaring defiantly at his wicked twin. He would not keep it. He wanted no part of this! He had to make himself awaken from this nightmare._

_The second walked forward, his expression twisting into an even more wicked sneer. "Look what you've done," he hissed. "Just look." His gaze fell to the ground as a cruel chuckle began from somewhere in his throat._

_The first felt a cold chill come over him. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He looked down, dreading what he would see. There should not be anything out of the ordinary; he had simply stuck the sword into the ground. But now, as he stared down, he saw the body of a young woman impaled through the blade. Her green eyes looked up glassily, lifelessly, into his, as the blood spilled from the wound in her stomach and trailed across the dirt, meeting his shoes. It was the same girl whom he had seen in his other dream, the girl whom he had supposedly killed when jumping down to her from above._

_He backed up, unspeakable horror and revulsion sweeping over him. No! No, this could not be! She had not been there! He had not killed her! No! He had not burned the village! He had not done any of these treacherous acts! It was all a dream! A nightmare! It had no truth to it!_

_Abruptly his shoulder was gripped, painfully. He winced, turning to face his attacker, and saw his double there again. His expression was still filled with madness and twisted delight, and now there was accusation in those eyes as well. He leaned in again, making certain that the first would hear his hissed tones._

_"Murderer! You're a murderer!"_

Sephiroth gasped, letting out a choked cry as his eyes flew open. He was still half in his horrible nightmare, but he could feel that something truly was clutching at his shoulder. Immediately his hands flew up to pull it away. He touched what felt like soft cloth over a slender arm, and he turned wild eyes to meet the puzzled and concerned eyes of his assistant.

He slumped back, the present fully washing over him. It had just been a dream then. It had seemed so real, but it had not been, no matter how that . . . other him had tried to say that it was so. He was not a murderer. He had not burned the village of Nibelheim. He was still what he believed himself to be, an honorable businessman.

"Hey!" Now his other shoulder was gripped as well. "Hey, Sephiroth, are you okay?"

He came to attention, looking up at the younger man through the bangs that had fallen across his emerald eyes. Cloud was obviously worried. Had he done or said something in his sleep that had concerned the other? And if so, what would it have been?

Slowly he nodded. "I'm . . . I'm fine," he answered. Hopefully his voice sounded more even to Cloud than it did to him.

Cloud frowned, unconvinced, as he stepped back. "I woke up a while ago and saw that you'd dozed off," he said, "so I was trying to do some work quietly. But then you started screaming." He crossed his arms, leaning against the edge of the desk.

Sephiroth ran a hand through his hair, causing his bangs to stand up even more than they already did. This was the second time this night that he had fallen asleep and dreamed something unsettling about himself. And in both dreams, that girl had been there. Who was she? Why was he dreaming about her? Had he seen her somewhere recently and it had stayed in his subconscious? But why would he dream, twice, that he had killed her?

He sighed now, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair. "Was I saying anything?" he asked.

Cloud nodded. "You said something about . . . not having burned down some village," he recalled, frowning again. "And that you hadn't killed anyone. Whatever you were dreaming must have been nuts."

Sephiroth only grunted in reply. "Nuts"---that was a good word for it. Just as long as that was all it happened to be, and not a distorted reflection of some long ago reality. Oh, what was he thinking? It was preposterous to even consider at all that something like that could have occurred. Still, of all names that could randomly appear in dreams, why "Nibelheim"? Where on earth would he had ever heard that word before? It sounded entirely unfamiliar to him.

He frowned thoughtfully, looking up at Cloud. "Does the name 'Nibelheim' mean anything to you?" he asked.

Cloud blinked. "No. Should it?"

Sephiroth shrugged. "Not especially." At least, he hoped so.

He looked back to the computer. "There's still work to be done," he remarked, as he typed in the login prompt. Quickly the desktop screen loaded. The clock in the bottom corner read two in the morning. After falling asleep twice, it did not seem hopeful that he, at least, would get much more done. But now, more than ever, he did not want to sleep again. He did not want to see those horrors, or to encounter that dark version of himself. He did not want to be told that his life was a lie, that he actually was a twisted and compassionless killer. It was not true!

Cloud watched him, his expression never letting up. Sephiroth was a withdrawn person, a lot of the time, but still Cloud had come to know him quite well, in five years. It did not even take that knowledge, however, to understand that something was greatly amiss. He had never seen the other so visibly shaken before by a dream, or by anything at all, actually.

"You look pale." He spoke quietly, not accusingly. The older man's hands were shaking as he attempted to resume the work he had been doing.

"I'm fine," Sephiroth retorted. Cloud could hear that an edge had slipped into his voice.

The blonde moved away from the desk. "I'm going to get back to work too," he announced. Sephiroth would never tell him anything at this point, but Cloud had learned that if he backed off for a while, his boss would sometimes say what was bothering him. Maybe now would be one of those times.

He crossed the room to the water cooler, then took a paper cup from the stack and had it filled. When he was satisfied with the amount, he released the button and brought the cup to his lips. Behind him he could hear Sephiroth beginning to type again. The movement of his fingers sounded unsteady, his mind still obviously occupied with whatever had disturbed him in his sleep. Cloud did not really expect him to speak, at least not yet. He blinked in surprise when he heard the other's deep voice.

"I dreamed that I was in a burning village."

Cloud half-turned, looking over at the silver-haired man. Sephiroth was leaning back in the chair, staring blankly at the computer screen. Apparently he realized that he was not going to get any work done right now. Cloud leaned an elbow on the top of the water cooler, staying silent to listen.

"There were people everywhere, running . . . some laying on the ground, bleeding. There had been a deliberate attack of some kind." He paused, and his expression grew more troubled. "I saw the one who had done it. He was obviously out of his mind. His eyes were filled with a madness and a hatred that I've never seen before."

Cloud sensed that there was something else. Sephiroth had not told yet what was actually bothering him. Now he looked sickened.

"He was me. . . ."

Cloud stared him at shock. "But that's not possible," he said at last. "You . . . you've never done anything like that!"

Sephiroth nodded vaguely, his thoughts still occupied. He picked up a pen, turning it around in his hands. "Do you . . . think that I would ever be capable of losing my mind?" The question was slow, deliberate, and hesitant. He had been thinking on it for some time, and was afraid of the answer.

Cloud threw the empty cup into the garbage can. "Of course not," he retorted, his voice coming out more harsh than he had intended. He checked himself and sighed, running a hand through his wild spikes. "You're a good person," he said now, lowering his tone. "You would never go massacre some village."

Sephiroth did not look convinced. "If I lost my mind, there's no telling how I would act. Good people can and do go insane."

Cloud walked over to the desk again. "But you haven't lost your mind," he said. "You're fine. Nothing's going to happen to change that." He crossed his arms, his blue-green eyes narrowing. "You're too strong a person to lose yourself."

Sephiroth sighed, setting the pen back down again. He wanted to believe that was true. He was annoyed anyway that a dream, just a _dream_, had shaken him this badly. He was a practical, logical person. He knew what had happened in his life. He knew he was not the man he had seen in the flames. Still, he could not help wondering if he had such a mad side locked in his mind somewhere. What would happen if it was ever released?

A seed of doubt had been planted.

He frowned, using his mental willpower to push it aside. What foolishness. In the morning, he would wonder why he had let figments of his imagination upset him so much. He turned back to the computer.

"Nevermind," he said now. "Let's get back to work."

Cloud frowned a bit as well. He could tell that the matter was closed for now. With a sigh he turned and went to his own desk.

* * *

Reno sighed as he turned another corner. This city was not familiar to him at all, and it looked more primitive than anything on Gaia. There were still automobiles and motorcycles, but he had seen that they were not capable of what Gaia's vehicles could do. They were not as fast, nor did they have any other special abilities. That was the least of his worries, though it did further his suspicions that somehow they had ended up on another planet.

He could still hear Loz behind him, sniffling in despair. The big man insisted he was not crying, and Reno was not in the mood to argue. He did not even want to be with Loz in the first place. Well, that was saying too little. He did not want to be in this strange world at all. He wanted to be back home, and return to the assignment he and Rude had been on for Rufus.

"Well, this is a sight I didn't think I'd ever see."

It was a female voice, and one that sounded strangely familiar. Reno narrowed his eyes. Where had he heard it before? It had not been recently. He whirled around, confused, as he tried to find the speaker. No one was in sight. The street was silent, and wet from the rain that had only stopped several moments ago. Reno had thought that he and Loz were probably the only ones walking around at this time of the night.

Now there was a soft chuckle. "Over here," chirped the voice.

Reno followed it to a nearby alley, looked in, and immediately went pale. Sitting on a crate was a young woman wearing a pink dress and a red-violet mini-jacket. A black ribbon was around her neck, and two locks of her auburn hair fell over her shoulders. The rest was pulled into a braid down her back. She smiled impishly, her green eyes bright.

"It looks like you and Loz are grudging allies, at least for now," she commented.

Reno swallowed his immense shock. Instead he smirked, crossing his arms. "And just when I thought I'd seen it all," he remarked. "So, did you get sent back too, like Loz?"

She shook her head. "Zack and I came here to try to help you get things straightened out," she replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "We haven't been given mortal forms again."

Reno shifted, dropping his hands to his sides. "So wait, you're a ghost?" he gasped.

She looked amused. "I guess you could say that," she said.

"Hoo boy. . . ." Reno shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. He was not entirely sure that he liked this development. Plus, it was just ironic, that he would see Aerith after her death, when he had often been trying to catch her for Shinra when she had been alive. Or maybe it had been planned that way. He could easily imagine that Aerith would find such a twist amusing.

"So I can see ghosts now," he said. "Rude'd really think I was crazy if I told him that." Then he paused, fully digesting what else Aerith had told him. "Whoa, whoa, hold on, you say _I _have to fix this?" he exclaimed, staring at her in disbelief. "Hey, Cloud's the hero. Not me! I'm not hero material!"

The gentle mirth did not leave. "But Cloud doesn't remember anything right now, and you do," she informed him.

Reno fell back, trying to digest this news. _Cloud_ did not remember? Cloud, the one who had defeated Sephiroth more than once in the fight to bring peace to Gaia? How could he forget, while Reno, a Turk and sometimes an antagonist, remembered? That did not make sense. Well, nothing else did, either.

"So what's Cloud now?" Reno asked, blinking. "A busboy at a fast food place?"

She chuckled. "No. But I can't tell you where he is. You have to find him, and the others, yourself." She stood up now, walking over to the bewildered redhead and starting to pass him by. "Some are closer than you might think."

Reno turned as she walked past. Was she leaving already? She had just got there! He needed more information! "Okay," he said slowly, "but how did this happen, anyway?" He grabbed for her arm, hoping to hold her back. Instead, he winced as he took hold of thin air. Trying to stop a ghost really was pointless.

She looked back. "You don't need to know right now," she smiled. "Just work on finding everyone else. I'll be in touch. Maybe you'll see Zack, too." With that she walked out of the alley, and as Reno turned more, his ponytail whipping around his neck, he found that she was gone. There was no indication that she ever had been there, either. All was quiet, just as one would expect at such a late hour.

He slumped back. So now he knew hardly anything more than he had a moment earlier, except that Aerith's ghost was probably going to turn up whenever he least expected it. Not to mention Zack's as well. _How fun,_ he thought sarcastically. He sighed, adjusting the goggles on his forehead before starting to walk out of the alley. "Well," he said aloud to nothing in particular, "I guess it's time to get down to business." He certainly was not adverse to locating everyone else who had come from his world. Aerith's news only made him want to all the more.

He frowned slightly when he did not hear anything at all in response to his comment. Now that he thought of it, where was Loz, anyway? He had thought the other had been right behind him. He cursed under his breath. He should have made sure that they stayed together! If Loz was wandering off by himself, there was no telling what the extent of the trouble would be that he could get into.

He cast his gaze up and down the brightly-lit street. Maybe Loz had gone into one of the buildings. There was a diner across the street. If he had gotten hungry, or if he had thought he had seen someone familiar in there, he might have ventured over there. It was worth a try, at least. Reno shrugged to himself, lazily starting the walk across the empty road. "Here goes nothing," he declared.

Making it to the other side without incident, the Turk sighed and started to walk up the path leading into the diner. It looked like a nice enough, quiet place, but his opinion on the latter changed immediately when he opened the heavy door and heard the angry and indignant yelling from the back.

"You don't have any right to tell me what to do, you . . . you insect!"

"It's just a suggestion for how you can keep from falling again."

"I don't need suggestions from you!"

"You're a meanie!"

Reno smirked slightly in amusement. There was Loz. And the other two voices sounded familiar too. Maybe now he was getting somewhere. He strolled forward to the booth in the back, studying its occupants. Loz was sitting on the edge of it, his hands and arms on the table. Kadaj was next to him, on his left, and was propping himself up on one elbow while keeping his other hand on his knee. To Kadaj's left was a strange character Reno had never seen before, which looked like a humanoid male with mismatched wings. It shifted uncomfortably, looking embarrassed by the argument.

What Reno found most intriguing, however, was the fact that Yuffie Kisaragi was standing in front of the booth, her hands on her hips as she yelled at Kadaj. She was dressed strangely, in a white blouse and a blue, flaring skirt. Reno did not think he ever recalled a time when he had seen her in anything but shorts. Now she almost looked formal, which seemed so out of place for her. And on her feet were things she had never mastered---roller skates.

Reno grinned cheekily. "And what are we up to?" he said casually.

Yuffie started at the new voice, whirling on her skates to look. "Reno?" she gasped, her eyes widening.

"Oh-hoh, you missed me," he continued to tease, "and you remember!" It was definitely a relief, as well, to know that he and Loz were not the only ones. Actually, Kadaj acted as though he did, as well. And it only made Reno all the more confused as to why Rude did not. He wished that Aerith would have stayed to explain these mysteries. He would certainly demand to know, the next time he saw her.

Yuffie glowered. "How could I forget an obnoxious guy like you?" she retorted, yelping as she swayed on the bothersome skates. She flung her arms out desperately, trying to regain her balance. But the wheels she was wearing were not having any of it. She pitched forward, starting to coast down the aisle. Before either she or Reno could do anything about it, she met him with force and they were going down in a tangled heap, while all the customers looked on in shock.

It was a good moment before Reno was able to get past enough of his dazed feelings to fully grasp the awkward situation. He was sprawled on his back on the floor, and Yuffie was sprawled across him. She seemed to realize it at the same time, and immediately she got to her knees, pushing herself away and sitting uncomfortably on the floor.

"Oww!" she muttered, rubbing her right ankle. She looked over, glaring at Reno in an accusatory way. This was his fault, after all!

The redhead only shrugged as he pulled himself into a sitting position as well. "Hey, I don't know what Kadaj told you, but maybe you should have taken his advice," he smirked. His hand flew to the back of his head, rubbing at a spot that was suddenly sore. He wished that he had either been able to catch her or that he could have gotten out of the way before her unceremonious spill. Or better yet, he wished that she had been able to control herself.

"Kinda weird, isn't it," he mused now.

She looked up again. She had been in the process of untying the right skate, and now she was holding it in her hand. Her expression warned that the redhead had better watch what came out of his mouth. Honestly, she had been having a ridiculous day as it was, without matching wits with him!

"I mean, you're trained in the ninja arts," Reno went on, ignoring her look, "and yet you can't stay up on those things. But kids who know nothing about being a ninja can handle them with ease. I've seen Marlene on them sometimes, moving just like a pro." He grinned triumphantly.

She gripped the object tightly, her knuckles going white. "Ohhh! I'd like to see you do better!" she snapped, and abruptly threw it at him.

Reno ducked, and a moment later he heard a crash as it hit the wall. This was followed by a customer's angry curse. The redhead turned, glancing over to see an outraged, middle-aged man gingerly holding up the offending footwear.

"Watch where you're throwing these things!" he yelled at Yuffie, and promptly tossed it back.

She glared as she caught it. "I was watching!" she retorted. "I just wasn't expecting him to duck!"

"My, so violent tonight," Reno scolded mockingly. "Are you trying to get yourself fired?"

"I don't care!" she shot back, setting the skate upright on the floor as she began to undo the laces of the other as well. If this activity was something she wanted to do, she might have continued to try, but this fall was the figurative last straw. She did not want to be here at all. She did not even understand what had happened, and she wanted to be home. She wanted to know why she was not home. She had been, not that long ago.

"Hey, we might be here a while," Reno answered easily. "You might wanna hold on to a job." Even as he spoke, he knew that he was a hypocrite. After all, he had certainly not wanted to stay with the job of being a bouncer, especially when Rude recalled nothing about him. He wished that he could simply round up everyone and get them back to Gaia, but realistically he knew it would not be that easy. He needed to figure out how to restore Rude's and Cloud's memories, and anyone else who needed it. And also, it bothered him that Aerith had not been willing to say what had caused this disaster.

"I don't want this one!" Yuffie declared. She gripped tighter at the left skate, her frustration building as it stubbornly remained on her foot. She pulled again, yelling a curse at the inanimate object as she raised her left leg into the air. At last the footwear slipped off, her appendage crashing back to the floor as it was released of the pressure. The girl winced again, muttering as she placed the left skate next to the right one.

Silence reigned for what seemed a long moment. At last, a soft, concerned voice spoke.

"Um . . . are you okay?"

Yuffie started, looking up at the winged creature. "Yeah, I'm fine," she answered, annoyed with herself. Reno was right, it was ridiculous that she was not able to manuever on those roller skates. Why had it been so hard? Well, nevermind that now. There were more important matters, like finding the others. Between Loz and Kadaj, she had learned what had been going on around town, and she was not pleased in the least. All of the others must be here, somewhere. She needed to find them! She just hoped that the rest of them would not be like Rude.

Now Reno started to get to his feet. "Well, at least things are a little easier, now that I've found two of you," he said, glancing from Yuffie to Kadaj. "I guess the next step is to find all the rest. You guys can help me."

"Easier said than done!" Yuffie moaned, resuming the rubbing of her right ankle. It had been hurting since the last fall, and now that she had taken off her sock, she could see that it looked red. She frowned at it.

"Hey, what happened to your determination?" Reno answered easily. "Don't worry about it! How hard can it be?" He was not about to reveal his own concerns, but it was likely that people had been scattered all over this area, possibly all over the entire planet. It could take ages to find everyone. It would help if they had some reliable means of transportation, such as a car or even an airplane. But then again, he had no idea where to continue looking. They probably needed to stop and thoroughly check each city that they found.

Now Yuffie turned her glare to Reno. "You're so arrogant, just because you managed to find us!" she said in irritation.

Reno shrugged. "That's two less people I need to find," he said.

He watched as Yuffie started to get up. She moved carefully, grabbing a nearby table with which to steady herself and leaning on it heavily as she tried to get her footing. She was favoring her left side, and Reno could see how sore her right ankle looked.

"It looks like you need to take a trip to the doctor," he commented nonchalantly.

"I'm fine!" she snapped immediately, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. She was not going to take advice from Reno, of all people. Both he and Kadaj had been teasing her, and she felt a certain need to show them that she was strong. Still, she just wanted to sink down into the booth. Even trying to put most of her weight onto her left foot could not take all of the pain away. But she would be alright in a few minutes.

"Maybe you should listen to him," Kadaj remarked boredly, watching her attempt to steady herself on their table. "It's not like you've been much help around here. And you're not going to be able to walk easily on that ankle."

"No one asked you!" Yuffie said, her glare smouldering.

Loz and the winged being exchanged a weary, resigned look. Apparently they were both as tired of this as Reno was inwardly. And Kadaj's boredom showed the same from him.

"We know what the end result will be," Reno smiled, "so why keep wasting time?"

Yuffie was about to reply when a new shadow fell between her and the redhead. She looked up with a start, finding herself facing a tall, rough-looking man with Loz's build and dark brown hair. The tag over his pocket read "Manager." To her side, she heard Reno mutter an "Oh boy." Judging from the man's angry expression, he was not going to be forgiving about the commotion.

"What's all the noise?" he growled, looking from Yuffie to Reno and back again. "No one has shut up since you got here," he said accusingly to the dark-haired girl. "And it's only gotten worse since _he_ got here," he added, jerking a thumb in Reno's direction. "You jokers have been disrupting the peace and quiet of this establishment. I've had several customers come complain about you in the last five minutes!"

"It's just a friendly discuss . . ." Reno tried to interject.

"'Friendly', my foot," the manager retorted. He grabbed Yuffie's arm roughly as he started to pull her away from the table. "Look, I've seen and heard enough to know that you're not going to work out here. Get your things together and get out."

"Hey!" she cried indignantly, stumbling as he dragged her. "I was trying!" She tried to pull away, biting back a wail of pain as she stepped down hard on her right foot. She hated to admit that the guys were right; she needed to have something done about it. Not that she would say so aloud.

To her shock, it was Loz who came to her defense. He got up, taking hold of the man's wrist and wrenching the hand away from Yuffie's arm. "Hey, leave her alone," he said, frowning at the unfriendly character. This manager did not want to "play"; he seemed to be the sort that was hard to get along with, and Loz did not like that kind of person.

Yuffie watched this, trying to inch her way past them as she did. She had never known Loz, though she had heard Reno sometimes say that the big silver-haired man had a childlike mind. It had seemed odd to her, but she had seen evidence of exactly that during the time that he had been here. He and Kadaj's friend Alexander seemed to get along fairly well, though the doppelganger also seemed able to communicate with ease with Kadaj.

As she moved along, she was suddenly grabbed by Reno, who was smirking in amusement. "Okay, it's time for us to go find the nearest hospital," he said, and before she could do anything except open her mouth in shock, he was hoisting her across his shoulders and heading for the door. As they neared it, the girl finally found her voice and began letting loose with a stream of insults and curses at the redhead. After all, how dare he treat her this way! She could easily beat him up if he set her down, and if her ankle would cooperate. He was just lucky that he was holding onto her so firmly. Otherwise, he would be sorry!

The redhead barely paid attention to her ranting. He had heard it all before, and much worse, from others he had met during his time as a Turk. So instead he calmly pushed the door open with his foot and stepped outside, while in the background he heard somebody punch somebody else. Hopefully, he thought, Loz had struck the manager, instead of the other way around. But either way, it was possible that there would be a brawl.

* * *

He was writing on a clipboard in one of his patients' rooms, several locks of his shoulder-length hair falling into his eyes as he did. He barely noticed, both because it happened so often and because he was involved in updating Mrs. Peterson's condition. She had improved since the previous night, and if she continued to do so, she would be able to be released within the next few days. Her children would certainly be grateful.

And he would be relieved as well. His job was rewarding, when he could see people getting well and to know that he may have helped in some small way. And on the other hand, he always hated it when he had to deliver bad news. He was awkward with doing much speaking as it was, but to tell someone that they or a loved one was terminally ill, or to report on someone's demise, was almost unbearable. Sometimes they would accept it stoically, or numbly, and that was alright, but others would break into tears, unable to be consoled. He never had figured out the best way of responding when they lost control.

"Doctor?"

He looked up at the nurse's voice. She had brushed the unruly lock of her cropped blonde hair behind her right ear, and she was watching him with hopeful blue eyes.

"Oh good," she smiled now. "You're just finishing."

He set the clipboard back in its compartment at the end of the bed and walked to the door in silence. As he stepped into the corridor, he carefully pulled the heavy door shut behind him. "What is it?" he asked in a flat tone.

She pouted slightly. "I see you're in your usual good mood," she remarked. "Anyway, there's a new patient out in the waiting room, and you're the first doctor I've found who's free." He was actually the first doctor she had looked for, as she considered him the most skilled of all of them. But he did not need to know that, if he did not already. And knowing him, she honestly would not be surprised if he did.

He grunted, starting to walk up the hall. "What's the problem?" he asked.

"She fell and twisted her ankle or something," the blonde answered. "She came in being carried in by this weird redhead, and they were yelling at each other. Another nurse asked what happened, and the guy said she'd fallen off a pair of roller skates."

"She probably did, then," he said in a detached voice.

She frowned. "Why would anyone be roller skating in the middle of the night?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "You'd be surprised what some people do," he replied as they arrived at the entrance to the waiting room. He walked in ahead of her, going over to where the two were sitting.

The last thing he was expecting upon their arrival was for both the girl and the guy to jump up, wide-eyed, and stare at him and the nurse. And he expected even less for them to suddenly shout out names---their names, as a matter of fact.

"Elena!" cried the redhead.

"Vinnie!" yelped the injured girl, and promptly started to tumble over from the pressure on her ankle.

The physician quickly reached out, catching her as she fell. "Ah . . . you're loud," he said then, his reaction to her loud voice having been delayed by the would-be spill. He paused, mulling over what she had suddenly exclaimed. He gave her a deadpan look. "And it's Vincent."


	4. The Ghost, First Class

**Notes: As per Lisa's advice, I have altered Loz's crying here. Thanks to 1wngdngl for the idea that inspired the third and final (for now) of the dreams! An episode of _Yu-Gi-Oh!_ also was a source of inspiration for that. And the surname given to the character in the last scene seems to be official now! I saw it in a magazine scan.  
**

* * *

** Chapter Four**

She had been waiting for her vengeance for millennia, ever since she had first tried to conquer the planet.

The Ancients had been the first to defeat her, and then she had lain for two thousand years, waiting for someone to find her, some unsuspecting fool who would have no concept of her true powers. And of course, it had happened.

It was just her luck that it had been scientists who had stumbled across her form. They had mistaken her for an Ancient, and had even injected her cells into test subjects to see what their reactions would be and if they could start up the race anew. And once that had been done, once her lifeforce was in their bodies, she had easily manipulated the victims to her will. But none of them had been good enough for all of her purposes, until one particular child had been born.

He was her favorite from the first, doomed from the cells coursing through his system in his infancy. She had often whispered to him as he grew, telling him that he was different from the other children. She had not told him how so, not until he was older and made the frightful discovery that sent his already unstable mind into a panic. When he had locked himself in the library at Shinra Manor, she had made her climatic move. He had remained there for three days, completely isolated from everyone, and she had taken advantage of it. By the end of the third day, she had obliterated almost every trace of the good man he had been.

She had possessed his mind, but it had been such a subtle, quiet grasp. He had not realized at all that it was she who drove him into insanity, she who had then convinced him to set fire to the town and turn against his comrades. He had been insecure as it was, fearing a betrayal, and after he had gone mad, she had easily convinced him that it had become true. She had told him that she was the only one he could trust, and to whom he could devote his loyalty.

She found it amusing in some twisted way, that he had such a strong body, but such a weak mind. At least, that was what she had believed at first, when she had first started taking control of him. Of course, back then, she had doubted he ever would have suspected her presence no matter how strong-willed he was. She worked in such insidious ways, convincing people that what she wanted was really what they wanted. And she would keep on doing it.

But then she had realized that, in his crazed state, he had actually started taking control of _her_, using her powers to his own advantage. And it had become obvious that she had created a monster. He was stronger than she had believed him to be, and when he was out of his mind, there was not any stopping him. Destruction would have still come about anyway, as she had wanted, but she desired to be in control. She did not want to be used by him. She did not want to be used by anyone.

It had been a shock, to suddenly be thrust into a new world. But now that she was there, and had seen what had become of her precious puppets, she was delighted. It would be much easier to bend them to her will now. They only had fragmented memories, and surely she would be able to have complete reign over them, without the danger of being manipulated herself. Just as long as they remained oblivious to their pasts. . . .

She had not been given a physical body, but she would see to it that she acquired enough power for one. Or, if all else failed, she was certain she could find some poor soul to possess---perhaps one of her marionettes. And after this relatively primitive planet was hers, and her deadly virus was spread, then she would set her sights on Gaia once again.

* * *

_Their blades crashed, and then he leaped back to attack once more. Instead of lunging, however, he cut loose a chunk of metal, sending it with fury at the other. It was sliced easily, and his opponent was quickly rushing to meet him again. The fight was fierce, with debris flying at them from every direction---most of it due to his own, deliberate actions. It made the battle more interesting, at any rate. And it was a form of taunting his opponent, testing his skills._

_This was not their first meeting. They had fought more than once in the past, and he knew that they were mortal enemies. They always would be, too. He was destined to follow in his mother's footsteps, and the blonde would never let him go through with the plan in peace. And the younger man was just a lowly human, anyway, another member of the greedy, grasping, selfish race that had stolen what rightfully belonged to him and his mother. All humans were alike. He deserved whatever was done to him._

_He knocked the other down when they were on a solid foundation again, driving the long blade completely through his shoulder. Carefully, and with precision, he raised the smaller body off the ground and into the air, giving him a quiet look of triumph all the while. This would end here._

_"Tell me what you cherish most," he purred. "Give me the pleasure of taking it away."_

_Then it was as though a veil was taken from over his mind, as the current situation began to fully dawn on him. His eyes widened in disbelief and confusion. What was he thinking? What was he saying? What was he doing?! This man . . . this was not his enemy! This was his assistant, his friend. He did not want to harm him!_

_And were they not both humans? What on earth was he if he was not human? Even if he believed he was not part of that race, his actions were every bit as deplorable as what he accused them of doing. Perhaps more so, because of considering himself better than they when he was not, at all._

_Shakily he lowered the Masamune and Cloud to the roof again, quickly extracting the blade from the other's shoulder. The blonde hissed in pain, reaching to grab at the wound. Immediately the dreamer sheathed the sword, hurrying over to the injured man._

_"Let me see it," he ordered, reaching to pull the blonde's hand away from the wound._

_Cloud looked up at him, his expression twisted in hatred. "Just stay away from me!" he shot back. "Haven't you done enough?" His hand came free, slapping the other's fiercely away._

_The dreamer rocked back, stunned by the action. No . . . this was not real. He had not tried to kill Cloud! And yet, he knew he apparently had, judging by what had been happening once he had come to his senses. And he was understandably loathed for it. There was no admiration in the other's eyes now._

_But . . . it seemed like in this world, they had never been close to begin with, judging from the memories tumbling through his mind. What was this? None of it was making sense at all!_

_He stared down at the blood that had been left on his flesh when Cloud had slapped him. Underneath the crimson, it almost looked like the skin was decaying before his very eyes. He gasped, helplessly watching as some unidentifiable substance began to drip from his open palm, followed by the flesh beginning to peel. His hand was . . . it was decomposing._

_"Is this a graphic display of guilt I'm seeing? It won't change anything. You're rotten to the core, and you always will be."_

_He whirled sharply at the familiar, unwelcome voice. He was looking in a warped mirror. The other him, his mad self from Nibelheim, was standing there, the Masamune unsheathed again. His expression twisted in a wicked smirk._

_"Just like me!"_

_He charged, plunging the weapon into the other's stomach. The dreamer gasped, falling back as blood rose in his throat._

He was not expecting to find himself sprawled on the floor, his chair underneath him. His eyes flew open upon the impact, and he stared up blankly at the ceiling, breathing heavily. His hair was wildly spread out around him, and his arms were at odd angles, as if subconsciously he had sensed his fall and had tried to prevent it. Now, still half-asleep, he brought a hand to his abdomen. Was there a hole there? And blood? No . . . it felt normal.

He raised up slightly, looking down at himself. He was fine. Not only was he not impaled, but his flesh was perfectly healthy. And there was no sense in remaining where he was, on top of the toppled chair.

Slowly he rolled off of it onto his knees, and from there, he pulled himself to his feet, dragging the furniture up with him. He fell into its softness again, running a hand over his eyes and forehead. He could feel that it was trembling uncontrollably.

One bizarre dream was a nuisance. Two seemed suspicious. And three . . . three was unheard of, under the circumstances. There was nothing that would have triggered this insanity! Nothing could have . . . unless it was somehow true. . . . But it was impossible, absolutely impossible! He did not believe in reincarnation, and outside of that, what other explanation was there? He could not have traveled that other road.

_"Your life's a lie."_

What did that mean? He knew that he was who he believed himself to be. Jenova Corp was well-recognized throughout the world. Unless . . . unless he was completely out of his mind, and he was imagining all of this in his head. What if there was no Jenova Corp, no assistant, no him, in the way that he believed? Could he actually be in some mental hospital, having delusions of grandeur? No . . . this was real! It had to be! He was not out of his mind!

"Sephiroth?!"

He looked up with a start as Cloud came back in, apparently having raided a vending machine. He was holding an open, small bag of potato chips, and had several others held against his chest. He set them on the desk, frowning in concern at his boss.

"I heard a big crash," the blonde declared. "What happened?"

Sephiroth could only stare at him, not speaking. This was the Cloud he had been working with for years. They were not enemies, nor did they hate each other in the least. He could not even imagine raising a sword against the other, let alone actively tormenting him and apparently planning to end his life. He doubted that Cloud ever could picture it, either. It was all ridiculous!

Cloud raised an eyebrow. "Hey, what's the deal?" he demanded. "Do I look goofy or something?" He studied the silver-haired man, taking in his bloodshot eyes and his bewildered, stricken expression. Sephiroth had been acting so odd tonight. Of course it was because of the dreams, but he should not even be having them in the first place. Maybe he was just overworked.

"You fell asleep again, didn't you." It was not a question.

Sephiroth grunted, looking away. This was not a dream he could tell to Cloud. "I just started to doze, and knocked the chair over," he answered. "I woke right up." Well, it was partially true.

The blonde was not convinced. "No more dreams?" he asked pointedly, and crunched on another chip.

"No."

"You look too upset to have just tumbled on the floor."

"I wasn't dreaming." He could hear that an edge had slipped again into his voice, but he did not care. He would not give in this time, as he had about the last unpleasant nightmare. The other dreams had not involved Cloud.

"Sephiroth . . ."

"What."

"You're lying." Cloud studied him, his blue eyes knowing and penetrating. And suddenly Sephiroth was furious. How could Cloud profess to know him when he himself was starting to have doubts? He could not! No one could know him. The spectre in his sleeping moments did not, either.

He looked up, his sea green eyes flashing. "What makes you so certain?" he snapped. "Can you read my mind?"

Cloud only looked taken aback for a brief timespan. Sephiroth rarely became incensed at his assistant, and for him to suddenly lash out in that manner only testified as to how stressed he was over what had been happening to him. And it made Cloud believe all the more that he was correct.

"Okay, so you don't want to tell me," he replied. "Fine. But you don't look like you're ready to deal with this all by yourself."

Sephiroth was not ready to deal with it at all. But he would have to handle it by himself. He did not turn back to face the other. How could he tell Cloud that they had been fighting a duel to the death? The other probably thought by now that he was absolutely mad. Not that he was not starting to believe it himself.

Cloud sighed. Shaking his head, he turned to go back to his own desk. He could understand Sephiroth's reluctance. He was a practical man, being driven into a frenzy over a pack of unsettling dreams. If only Cloud could figure out what might be causing it! He wanted to believe it was work-related stress, as that seemed like the only logical explanation. Or was there really any logical explanation for something like this? He made a face of disgust and frustration.

"That business meeting must've been crazier than I thought," he remarked. "It's sure got you freaking out."

Sephiroth grunted in reply, barely listening. He leaned forward, grabbing at the sides of his head with his hands as his long locks slipped around in front of him. What was happening to him? He could never have been such a monster . . . could he? He thought back to his conversation with Cloud after the second nightmare. He had wondered then if he might actually hold such a dark side within his soul. That seemed to be what his dreams were saying. His fingers dug tighter against his scalp. If it was there, it probably wanted to be let out. Well, it would not happen again. He would fight against it.

"That's right, you will. And I'll be here to help you through it, pal. It's a rough road ahead."

He started violently. That was not Cloud's voice, though it sounded familiar to him. And it sounded like whoever it was had been standing right next to him. He looked up wildly. No one else was there.

He slumped back into the chair. So now he was hearing strange voices too, and thinking he recognized them. Wonderful.

* * *

Alexander gaped in shock and disbelief as the manager fell back from Loz's harsh punch. "I don't think that's a good idea!" he exclaimed, quickly getting to his feet. He had not been expecting a fight to break out, though he was glad that Loz had helped out the waitress. But now the other customers, intrigued and confused, were starting to congregate, and one of them was reaching for his cellphone. To the doppelganger, that said one definite thing. 

He reached out, grabbing Kadaj's shoulders and trying to steer him out of the booth. "They're probably calling the police!" he cried. "We need to get out of here!"

The silver-haired boy looked over at his new friend. "Oh, we'll go," he replied smoothly, easing his lanky body into the aisle. He was not that concerned, though he wondered if he should be. The mention of the police did not sound friendly, and judging from the manager's outraged expression, he would not put in a good word for any of them if officers came. Spending the night in jail was not what he had in mind.

He looked to Loz. "Come on," he directed, and started to walk forward into the throngs of people. He did not bother to glance back and check to see if the other two were following him. They would not have reason not to do so. He just hoped that the rain had stopped outside. He still did not understand what struck fear into his heart at the thought of rain, but something most certainly did. The last thing he wanted was to parade that uneasiness in front of Loz.

Abruptly a strong hand closed around his arm. The boy tensed at the pressure, whirling around to face his captor. He blinked in surprise at the curious, amiable young man, who did not seem to be that much older than Kadaj himself.

"Hey, is that your real hair color?" he asked.

Kadaj raised an eyebrow. Of all questions, and at a time like this. A very odd person indeed. "Of course," he retorted, pulling away. "You haven't seen silver hair before?"

"Yeah, actually," the other replied. He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a folded piece of paper. Smoothing it out on a nearby table, he handed it to Kadaj. "I couldn't help thinking how much this guy looks like you, not just in hair color, but the eyes, and your faces in general." He shrugged. "I kinda wondered if you were related or something."

Kadaj frowned. What was he talking about? He looked down at the slick paper. It depicted a figure in silhouette, with an electric guitar. Across the bottom of the leaf, it read "One of Japan's Most Mysterious Stars, Now on World Tour!" Even in shadow, he recognized the detached, bored stance. He gasped in shock, turning the paper to its other side. Now the figure was shown under a spotlight, and he was staring at the image of Yazoo.

Immediately he looked back up at the one who had handed him the sheet. "What is this?" he demanded. Was it a joke? The last thing Yazoo would ever do would be to sing. He usually would barely say two words around Kadaj and Loz, when they were together. To imagine him on a stage in front of thousands of people was about as ludicrous as picturing Loz and Kadaj being well-mannered, polite gentlemen.

Yazoo was the most withdrawn of the three, and strangely, Kadaj understood him much less than Loz did. Despite the way those two would often tease and mock each other, they were also extremely useful in battle and often predicted each other's moves. That was how close they were. Kadaj sensed that his two older brothers had a quiet, yet powerful, comprehension of each other. He envied it at times.

The brunet just looked at him now. "You haven't heard?" he answered. "This guy's a really popular heavy metal star in Japan. Now his tour is bringing him here! My girlfriend's nuts about him, and she made me get some of the fliers. Go ahead and keep that one if you want. I have five others." He snorted in derision, then eyed Kadaj with further inquisitiveness. "I can see he does mean something to you," he commented. "You wouldn't react so shocked if he didn't. And I can see it in your eyes."

Kadaj ignored the invitation to respond to the query. "How long has he been famous?" he wanted to know. Behind him, he could hear Alexander and Loz coming over, but he did not pay them much heed.

"I dunno," was the impatient retort. "Four, five years, maybe. . . . Yeah, five. His first album came out when I was still in high school. You must have been living in a cave, to not have heard about his career." He frowned. "So is he related to you or not?"

"Hey, that's Yazoo!"

Kadaj looked up at Loz's shocked exclamation. The bigger man was gazing over Kadaj's shoulder at the flier, and now he reached for it with a large hand. Kadaj let him take it.

"What's he doing like this?" Loz gasped, his eyes widening in disbelief.

Alexander blinked in confusion, leaning in to look from the side. "Maybe the same thing that the Yuffie girl was doing being a waitress?" he suggested timidly. He did not understand at all what was going on, but it seemed apparent that these bizarre events were connected. It would make less sense if they were, instead, products of coincidence.

Loz shook his head rapidly, continuing to gawk at the advertisement. "But . . . Yazoo hates being around people," he protested. "And he . . . he'd never be singing!" He swallowed hard, awkwardly gripping at the edges of the paper. Yazoo's green eyes were the same cold, indifferent eyes that Loz had always remembered, and yet something was not the same. There was something about the other's expression that disturbed and haunted Loz, and he could not determine what it was. He glared at the paper, continuing to hold onto it.

Kadaj often wondered if their brother truly was as detached from everything as he made himself appear to be, and though Loz knew that it was often true, he also knew that Yazoo hid a lot of his deeper emotions. When he cared about something, he would give his all to protect it. And the only things Loz could think of that Yazoo honestly cared about were his brothers, and Mother---though the distant young man also had a certain fondness for his guns.

Wait . . . that was what was bothering Loz so much about the picture. Yazoo's eyes were entirely devoid of any sense of compassion or caring. He was one hundred percent apathetic. It sent a chill up the big man's spine.

He looked to Kadaj. Surely the youngest brother had noticed too. "Something's wrong with him, Kadaj," he declared, unable to keep the panic out of his voice. He could feel the tears pricking his eyes. Why? What had happened to their brother, and would they be able to help him? Would they ever have him back?

Kadaj nodded. "I know." He turned his attention back to the stranger, who was looking even more confused and intrigued by this point. "When is he coming here?"

"In the next couple of days. He'll be here for a little bit before the concert on Monday night."

By now everyone had gathered around, including the irate manager. "Look," he growled suddenly, directing everyone's attention to him, "I don't care when he's coming, just as long as you troublemakers get out before he arrives. Go hang out with him if you want!" He pointed furiously at the door. "Out. Now!"

Alexander bit his lip. He felt terrible that there had been such an uproar, especially since he had brought Kadaj there. But on the other hand, it must have been a good thing that he had done it, since Loz had then found them. And now they had learned of Yazoo's whereabouts, at least. Still, the doppelganger had a bad feeling that Yazoo's emotionless eyes could be explained the same as Reno's friend Rude. And he knew that would crush both of these silver-haired young men.

He looked to his friends. "Let's go," he pleaded. "We can go back to Dartz and see if he can think of what we can do." After all, if anyone could come up with a plan, Dartz surely could! He always seemed to know the best solutions. Maybe he would know what they could do to help Yazoo.

Kadaj ignored him as well, continuing to study the man who had handed him the flier. But at last he turned away. There was nothing more to learn from this person. He was just one of apparently many who knew a fan of Yazoo. Until their brother reached the city, the most that they could probably do would be to research his popularity and fame and see what this world thought of him. Maybe it would help them figure out what to expect when they did meet him. Loz was right, something was clearly amiss.

He could hear his older brother close behind him, as well as Alexander. Firmly he pushed open the door, stepping out into a cloudy, but currently dry, night.

Loz could not help wishing that Yazoo was there to tell him, mockingly, not to cry.

* * *

He had never heard someone talk so much. Even Elena stopped to take a breath more often than this strange, lanky ninja. And at least Elena talked sensibly. This girl was not making any reasonable statements. As he tended to her sore ankle, she rambled on wondering how he could possibly treat her, when he did not have a license. At least, not to her knowledge. But he was the great Vincent Valentine, wanderer extraordinaire! What was he doing posing as a doctor? 

"Ow!" she cried suddenly, as he felt along her ankle and touched the main spot of irritation. "Watch it, Vince!"

"Sorry." He looked at her, deadpan. "And actually, I do have a license."

She frowned suspiciously. "Since when?" But somehow, she already had a sneaking suspicion as to what he would say.

"I graduated from medical school five years ago," he announced. "And you've strained your ankle. You'll need to use a lot of cold packs in the first twenty-four hours, to keep down the swelling and the pain. Then, to increase the circulation, use warm or hot packs after that time period is up." He began to straighten up. "You'll be fine, as long as you don't put too much pressure on it too soon." The memory of her abruptly leaping to her feet and tumbling off her injured foot came to mind. "In fact, you probably shouldn't put any pressure on it at all for a few hours," he grunted.

She gaped at him. "You mean I have to stay here?" she cried in alarm. Oh, she hated hospitals! And she despised staying down, too. Of course, if she was here, it would give her more of a chance to try to convince him of his true past.

"Or let the redhead in the waiting room carry you."

She glowered. "Your memories went out the window, but your personality is still as charming as ever," she muttered.

He glanced back to her. She was such a strange person, so completely certain that she knew all about him even though he knew that he had never before seen her. And the man who had brought her was just as odd. Right now, he was trying to tell Elena the same sort of tales. He had seen quite a few psychiatric patients in his time, including many who were delusional, but these two seemed sane. He wondered if that should make their words of more concern than if they behaved in crazed ways.

"I'll go get a cold pack for you," he declared. "Elena's right outside the door, and I'll be back in a minute." With that, and before Yuffie could get in a word edgewise, he left.

The dark-haired girl gave the door a black look. "Stubborn idiot," she choked out to the empty room before turning her attention to her ankle. She reached down, rubbing a hand over it and then wincing.

She had not seen any people she knew as not recalling anything, until now. And she had not realized how much it would hurt. It bothered her greatly, to see Vincent's red eyes looking at her so blankly and to have him treat her as a stranger. Well, not that he did not always act vague and distant toward her, but at least he had acknowledged her as a comrade! Now he recalled none of that, not even how they had fiercely battled against Sephiroth, or Bahamut-SIN, or Kadaj and his brothers.

"Yeah, there's actually quite a lot of stubborn idiots around here."

Her head jerked up. That voice was completely unfamiliar to her. "Who's here?" she demanded, looking around the room with narrowed eyes. There was only the one door leading in, and no one had used it. But now, a spiky-haired brunet was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he regarded her with an amused smile. She gasped, her voice catching in her throat.

"The name's Zack Fair," he said, pushing himself away from the wall and walking over to her.

Immediately she got into a defensive position. "Well, I don't know how you got in here, but you'd better watch it!" she snapped. "I've been trained in ninjitsu!" He looked friendly enough, but men who suddenly appeared out of nowhere tended to make her at least somewhat suspicious.

He held up his hands in front of him. "Hey, no need to break out the karate chops and ninja stars," he replied easily. "You're supposed to stay off your ankle. I just want to talk to you for a minute."

"Yeah? About what?" She continued to watch him, her dark eyes narrowed. The name Zack . . . it was so familiar to her. Where had she heard it before? Wait. . . .

"About what's happened to everyone," he said, and eased himself onto the examination table next to her. She frowned, scooting her body further away from his.

"I only know about one guy named Zack," she declared. "He was Cloud's best friend. But he's dead." She peered at him, taking in his warm smile and cheerful eyes. "And you don't look the least bit dead, Mr. Zack Fair."

He smirked. "Guilty as charged. You're talking to a one of a kind ghost, first class." He leaned back, bringing up one foot to rest on the edge of the table and then clasping his hands around the knee. "So anyway, about what's happened. It looks like you've just had your first encounter with some of the people who don't remember anything. Frustrating, isn't it?" He could not help but remember all the times he had tried to get through to Cloud during the time when the blonde had taken on Zack's own identity out of his mental shock over his friend's death. Cloud had not been able to hear him at all, and he had repeatedly denied even knowing someone named Zack. The brunet had spent many long weeks and years worrying over him.

And now he needed to worry again, and not just for Cloud. Both of his best friends were on a course heading for disaster, if Zack and the others could not get things set straight. And of course, Zack could only try. The final decisions in the end would belong to those he was trying to assist.

Yuffie did not answer him. Instead she was slowly reaching out with a finger, aiming for his shoulder. She let out an unintentional squeal of alarm and revulsion when it passed through into thin air.

"You really are dead!" she burst out. She did not want to share this space with a ghost! She wanted to get down that instant, but the thought of tumbling onto her ankle gave her pause. Instead she gripped the edge of the padded table with her hands, tense as she stared at him. Why would Cloud's friend come to her, of all people? Why not go to Cloud?

"Told ya." He seemed completely unfazed by her actions, as if he had expected her to test him for signs of mortality. And, as he looked into her eyes, it felt as if he was reading her thoughts. She shivered, looking away.

"I have been to see Cloud, actually," he mused now. "He doesn't remember his past at all, but someone with him is starting to."

She turned back to him abruptly. There was something about that vague statement that she did not like. "Who?" she asked.

"Oooh, can't tell you that," Zack said calmly. "That's my department. Now, what I want you and Reno to do is to go around finding everybody you can who's from Gaia. And it has to be done really fast, too. There's a major evil stirring in the shadows, just waiting for the perfect chance to start wrecking havoc."

"A major evil?!" Yuffie yelped. "Well, that's just great! Nobody remembers except me, a Turk, and those crazy insect brothers! How are we supposed to fight some big evil thing?!"

Zack looked amused. "It'd help if everyone else could remember too, but you'll all have to fight this off even if you don't."

"But maybe they won't even remember how to fight!" the distraught girl cried. This was too much that he was asking her to do. How could she ever accomplish it all? What if most of them did not recall anything? They would probably all be like Vincent, and not believe her. And during a battle, it would be useless to rely on them.

"What even happened, anyway?" she demanded. "Why don't people remember? And what's this 'major evil'?!"

Zack looked at her thoughtfully. "You know, I don't think it's really that important as to what caused this," he replied. "That's over and done with now. We've gotta concentrate on picking up the pieces. And as for the evil, well, find everybody first and then we'll talk."

So she was supposed to run around, collecting people with Reno and getting met with reactions like Vincent's? Oh, and worse. She could just imagine how Barret and Cid would respond, if they were among those who did not have their memories. And she would not even be able to tell them what they needed to fight? That would go over well! They would get doors slammed in their faces for sure. Maybe even the little men in white jackets would be sent to them for good measure.

"Ohhh! You dead people are really exasperating!" she wailed. "I don't know how to do what you want! How will I even be able to find everyone?"

"A lot of them are probably pretty close by," he smiled. "And some of them even ended up in places that make some kind of sense." Then he paused, looking sheepish. "Well . . . that's just some of them," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It might not be as easy to find the rest. I can't believe myself where some of them have ended up." He started to slide himself down to the floor. "But I have faith in you."

Desperately she grabbed for him, even though she knew it was foolish. "Wait!" she pleaded. "Aren't you going to stick around? Give me some clues or something!"

He gave an exaggerated sigh. "I gave you some," he replied. "Talk to Reno and I'm sure you'll figure something out. Meanwhile, I have to go see about some close friends of mine." He looked back over his shoulder, giving her a half-wave. "Don't worry, I'll probably pop up when you least expect it." And with that, he walked through the wall and disappeared.

Yuffie slumped back, slapping her forehead. "That's what I'm afraid of," she moaned.

Or one thing out of many, at least.


	5. Many Meetings

**Notes: Many thanks to Lisa, who has been my main sounding board for ideas in this chapter! And as per her advice, I've altered the scene with Loz crying in the previous chapter.  
**

* * *

** Chapter Five**

"Excuse me? Sir?"

Reno started awake at the sound of the female voice. As he did so, he found that he had somehow ended up with his head resting on the uncomfortable, sharply cornered, and flat arm of the otherwise soft chair. Slowly he straightened up, muttering as he rubbed the back of his neck. How long had he been asleep there? He had not meant to doze.

"Sir?"

Oh, yes, the voice that had woke him up, but not in time to save him from a kinked neck. He tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn as he looked up, blinking back the last traces of slumber that still had a hold over his eyes. Elena was looking down at him, obviously uncomfortable. Her hands were behind her back, and she nervously shifted from one foot to the other as she watched him.

Why was she wearing that white uniform anyway? Reno frowned, looking away as the memories of the previous night came rushing back. They had arrived on a strange planet, he was being haunted by Aerith's ghost, and Rude and Cloud and Vincent and Elena and probably others did not remember their true lives. Wonderful.

"Darn. I was hoping it was just a dream," he muttered, half to himself and half to Elena, as he began to ease his body out of the chair. Apparently it was not merely his neck that was kinked, but his back, his shoulders, his left arm. . . .

She looked at him in confusion. "What?"

Reno grinned at her as he stretched. "You know, this crazy place, everybody having new jobs, and _you_ not rememberin' me," he added, pointing a forefinger at her in emphasis.

Now she glowered, taking several steps back. "Look, I'm not going to take this weird flirting from you," she retorted. She had been on duty for the past several hours, and during all of that time she had been tense, not knowing what this strange redhead would say next. She had been relieved when he had fallen asleep, but she had wondered how long it would last. Now that he was awake again, she decided that it had not been long enough.

Reno made a face. "Me? Flirt with you?" he said. The very thought gave him the chills. He did not feel that way about Elena at all. He saw her more as a younger sister to tease and torment.

Elena stared at him, unable to hide the shock and disbelief in her eyes. What was this guy's problem? First he acted like he was flirting with her, and now he was insulting her. Quickly she looked away, taking a deep breath and letting her blonde hair fall across her face. She had to keep control of herself. All she had to do was deliver Doctor Valentine's message and then she would not have to see this man ever again.

Reno sighed, last night's weariness catching up to him. "Okay, so, why did you wake me up anyway? It looks like it wasn't because you wanted to talk to me." He gave a weak smirk.

Elena looked back, her eyes narrowed. "Doctor Valentine said that your friend can leave now," she announced. "That is, if she uses crutches for another day or two, and keeps off her bad foot as much as possible." And she was anxious to see Yuffie leave, for more reasons than one. She had not been an extremely cooperative patient, and when Elena had left to find Reno, Yuffie had been insisting that she did not need anything to help her walk.

Reno shook his head, easily imagining the scenario. "Yuffie on crutches? Hoo boy. That's gonna go well."

At that moment, almost as if on cue, came a familiar, frustrated voice. "I don't need these, Vince!"

Reno and Elena both looked over, to where Yuffie was making her way into the waiting room. A crutch was under each arm, and she was navigating on her uninjured foot. Vincent followed her, calmly, holding a clipboard in his hands as he observed her.

"No, you won't, after a couple of days," he said in a flat tone, making a note on the clipboard.

Reno had to give a genuine smirk as he walked over to her. "And, boys and girls, this is what happens when we don't exercise caution during our activities," he mock-announced, placing his hands in his pockets.

Yuffie gave him a near-murderous glare, and swung one of the crutches at him while leaning heavily on the other. "It was your fault this happened in the first place!" she retorted loudly.

Reno, half-expecting the action, quickly dove to the side and avoided the unpleasantness of the healing tool being turned into a potentially dangerous weapon. "Hey, don't blame me because you lost your balance when I came in!" he shot back. He gave an amused chuckle as she aimed the crutch at him once again, and again swerved out of the way. His training as a Turk had brought out his agile abilities, and though normally Yuffie would be rough competition in that aspect, right now Reno obviously had the upper hand.

Elena watched the disturbance in shock, her mouth falling open. Swiftly she walked over to Vincent, gripping her arms tightly. "Doctor, aren't you going to do something?" she exclaimed, taking in the other's deadpan expression. Vincent seemed to accept everything with a calmness and an indfference that she could not understand. Often, such as now, she would feel like panicking, but Vincent would not seem to believe that there was anything to be distressed about at all. If Vincent ever did become angry at something or someone, Elena imagined that it would be a very scary thing.

Now the raven-haired man grunted, stepping over near Yuffie and catching the end of the crutch in mid-swing. Both Yuffie and Reno turned to look at him.

"If you're going to become locked in mortal combat, it would be better if you'd take it outside," Vincent told them both, though he was mainly speaking to Yuffie. He looked to her, his crimson eyes piercing into her brown orbs. "And when you're balancing on one crutch in order to wave the other one around, you're liable to fall again."

Yuffie brought the object back to earth, looking at him in irritation as she started to manuever to the door. Zack had mentioned that she needed to find the others, but he had not said anything about how she would convince them that she was not insane. She had tried again to talk to Vincent this morning, but he had still not been receptive and had only looked at her with his infamous poker face. By no means was she giving up, but for the moment she wanted to get away and plan a new approach. Maybe, if she came back and pestered him enough, he would grow weary and at least be willing to listen to her.

Reno's presence certainly did not help her attitude. She felt downright worried about Vincent's amnesia, and that obnoxious redhead had to keep hanging around, deliberately pushing her buttons. What made her all the more frustrated was the fact that she knew they needed to stay together, since they both did remember. It would only make things all the more exasperating if they were to wind up separated. But it was doubtful that they would be able to not strangle each other for a period of time long enough to accomplish what they needed to.

Even now, she could hear the Turk snickering as he headed for the door. "Well, we'd better be on our way," he called back lazily. "We have people to find, and to confuse. A Turk's always on the job."

Yuffie glared, chasing after him as quickly as she could---which, of course, was not very quick compared to her usual speed, but scarily and dangerously fast for anyone on crutches. "I'm not a Turk!" she protested, pushing the objects ahead of her as she limped forward.

Elena simply gawked at them, the disbelief still obvious in her blue eyes. And to think, Reno actually seemed to think that she, Elena, was one of these Turks, as he had told her the previous night. As if she ever would have worked with such a disagreeable person! Never!

She turned away, eager to get back to her nice, normal rounds.

"Interesting, aren't they."

Surprised, she turned and blinked at Vincent. His expression had not changed, but then again, when did it? The fact that he continued to stare after the duo showed his true feelings. And it puzzled Elena. "Interesting" was certainly not the word she would use!

"Doctor?"

He grunted, turning away himself. "Nevermind."

* * *

"Yazoo? Hey!"

The silver-haired musician started violently as a hand came down on his shoulder. Then, the initial shock passing, he slowly and deliberately turned to face an exasperated Cid.

"We're here already!" the man cried. "Where's your mind been? As soon as we got onboard, you looked out the window, spaced out, and you haven't been back to earth since!" He placed his hands on his hips, frowning down at the young man. Honestly, this boy was always so difficult! It was not any wonder that the people at the orphanage had reached their wits' end with him. Sometimes Cid wondered why he had ever thought that he could figure out such an enigma. Yazoo was going to make him old before his time---he just knew it.

The green-eyed rock star blinked at his manager calmly. "I'm back now," he answered vaguely, and started to ease his slender body out of the seat.

Cid stepped back, watching him. "It's all over the papers now," he grumbled, "about you and Sharon breaking it off. They shouldn't have found out already! Didn't you do it quietly?" He gave the other a searching look, though he knew it was pointless. When Yazoo was not singing, he did everything quietly.

Yazoo nodded. "I would've thought it would have reached the news last night," he said. What did it matter, anyway, if the press knew it? Certainly he had done it in private, but in his line of work, it was almost impossible to keep anything a secret for long. He had gotten used to it, though he supposed that he had found it easy to adjust to whatever life brought to him. Complaining about something that could not be changed would not make it better.

He knew that Cid, however, had still not gotten used to it. His "None of your business!" attitude, with a few choice curses thrown in, made him an interesting and colorful target for the reporters. And whenever he would not give them the information they wanted, but then still ended up in the news anyway, he would mutter something in annoyance about where the press could go. He knew that his conduct often called more attention to them, including quite a bit that was unwanted, but on that subject he himself did not care. Yazoo found that amusing, somehow, especially considering how Cid worried over Yazoo bringing bad publicity.

Now the blond man was glowering at something off in the distance. "Those reporters," he growled. "They just never know when to stop. I dunno what's the matter with 'em. It's like they don't have any shred of decency."

Yazoo shrugged. "They're just doing their job," he said, his tone even. Despite his words, he was certain as well that many or most of the reporters cared little about courtesy. As long as they could get a story that would capture everyone's attention and gain them some fame, they did not care whose toes they stepped on, what dirty laundry they had to figuratively air, or which hearts were broken.

"Yeah, yeah. Just like I'm doing my job when I wonder how the heck you can gaze off at nothing so long, or when I want you to practice more or not do long concerts." Cid crossed his arms, looking at the boy expectantly. Yazoo might be twenty-one, and legally an adult, but in spite of his distant, almost ethereal behavior, there was also a part of him that seemed childlike in nature---a longing that Cid had never been able to place. Yazoo wanted something that he did not have. What it was, was anyone's guess. And he knew Yazoo would never tell him.

Now the silver-haired young man gave Cid a calm, though almost bored look. "Touché," he remarked.

Cid frowned at him, obviously not pleased with that response. He had hoped that his charge would actually stop to think about his words, and why he was saying them. Maybe Yazoo would, for all he would know. Yazoo thought about everything else, at least. Surely he devoted a bit of his time to pondering over his manager, and how difficult and frustrating he was for Cid to deal with. Sometimes Cid sarcastically wondered if Yazoo even plotted to confuse him. But no, it was just the boy's personality. He was that way with everyone.

"Sometimes I gotta wonder if you feel anything at all," Cid declared. "Pain and anger? Joy and relief? Sorrow? Remorse? Or are you really as cold as you like to say you are, even when you are doing things to try to help other people?"

"I guess we'll never know." Yazoo looked to the exit door as it was being opened and as the staircase was brought. "Why don't we just leave?"

"Yeah, yeah," Cid muttered, shaking his head as he turned to walk down the aisle of the private jet.

Yazoo sighed softly, brushing a lock of hair over his shoulder before following the older man. He knew that Cid was also frustrated because he felt that he could never get close to or understand the other. Yazoo could understand how it would upset his manager, but he did not see how it could be any different. The truth was that he simply did not care to or want to let people into his heart. The numb apathy he possessed was always the dominant feeling. Cid knew it, too, and he wondered why it had to be that way, what had caused Yazoo to shut himself off from the world. Sometimes Yazoo wondered as well.

He stepped out into the bright sunlight as he reached the landing ramp. Slowly he descended the stairs, whipping out his sunglasses at the same time and applying them to his face. Hopefully there would be time to sleep when they got to the hotel. They had crossed several time zones, and he was exhausted. Not to mention he had not gotten enough sleep the previous night. The concert had ended late, and they had needed to leave early to reach this location.

He reached the bottom stair and stepped onto the concrete. He could hear Cid ahead of him, but he did not watch the other. When he heard unfamiliar and insistent voices calling his name, however, he slowly looked to his side. Had some devoted fans ended up finding out the time of their arrival and had decided to come see for themselves? It had been supposed to have been kept secret, known only to himself, Cid, and the pilot. Not that he would think it would not be possible for the information to be learned.

He raised an eyebrow at the two who were coming towards him. Both had silver hair and green eyes, as he did, and both were also wearing black leather. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Cid had immediately tensed, but he himself did not feel concerned, merely annoyed by the interruption.

The one who looked the youngest reached him first, his own eyes narrowing. "Yazoo! We need to talk to you," he declared, reaching to grab the musician's arm.

"What are you doing here, Yazoo?" the bigger man exclaimed, coming to him from his other side.

Yazoo took several steps back, batting the first one's hand away as he did. He had expected many things, but these greetings had not been among his assumptions. "I came here for a concert, if you hadn't heard," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone. Cid was yelling for them to "Scoot", but none of them were paying him any attention. Yazoo could certainly handle this himself, and the other two were intent on talking to him, not listening to the raving maniac with him.

"And I don't have anything to say to either of you," he added.

Now the strong man looked crushed. "What's wrong, Yazoo?" he pleaded, moving forward again. "You . . . you don't think we abandoned you, do you?!"

Yazoo frowned, his sunglasses sliding down his nose. "Since I've never seen either of you before, that would be impossible," he answered with more than a little sarcasm.

The younger one seized his forearm tightly. "You can't mean that!" His eyes were flickering now, with many varied and bewildered emotions. He was confused, he was upset. Anger flashed by next, followed by helplessness and pain.

Immediately Yazoo lashed out, catching the other's wrist and giving it a harsh twist. "Of course I mean it," he said. "Where would I have ever met you two?" Many people had come to the conclusion that he was not a strong fighter, due to his physique. Not that he often encountered those who wanted to battle him, but on the rare occasions when he did, he certainly proved them wrong. And he usually left them wishing that they had not even tried to go up against him.

The big man seemed alarmed by the scene. "No, Yazoo!" he cried. "Don't hurt Kadaj!"

The boy, Kadaj, hissed in pain, releasing his grip. "If you don't know, maybe we won't tell you," he retorted, ignoring the other's comment. "Is it really that easy to forget about us?"

By now, Yazoo had had enough. He walked past them both, heading over to where Cid was staring indignantly. Then he glanced back over his shoulder. "If I met you both at a concert, I'm sorry I don't remember," he said then. But honestly, he would not be sorry because they seemed nice (they seemed more strange than anything else). He only regretted not being able to place them because if he could recall it, maybe they would leave him alone.

_"Yazoo!"_ The muscular man reached out, trying to grab the other by the shoulder. "We . . . we're your brothers!" Yazoo's last comment seemed to have slammed an arrow into his heart, and now it looked like he was very close to breaking down in tears.

"Don't bother, Loz," Kadaj muttered. "He doesn't care."

Cid stared at them both in disbelief. "They're either liars or they're nuts," he declared, and then raised his voice to address them. "Hey, look! Yazoo's an orphan, with no brothers or sisters. Everyone knows that." His expression darkened. "I dunno what you're tryin' to pull, but it ain't funny! Just scram now, you hear?" He started to turn away, clapping a hand on Yazoo's shoulder to steer him away. "Let's get out of here, Yazoo. The car's waiting."

The musician nodded vaguely as he turned to look ahead. They were insane. They had to be. They were probably crazed fans who believed themselves to be his brothers because of their same hair and eye color. Or maybe they had even dyed their hair and gotten colored contacts. He had seen it all.

He raised an eyebrow, hearing what sounded like the big man sniffling. He glanced back again, seeing the other's expression twisted in heartache and confusion as he tried not to let the tears fall that were threatening to do so.

Yazoo could not help himself. "Aren't you a little old to be crying, Loz?" he remarked, recalling what Kadaj had addressed his brother as.

Loz's head shot up, and he glowered furiously before looking away. "I'm not crying!" he yelled back.

Kadaj looked disgusted. "Shut up, Yazoo," he muttered, turning to walk away. After a moment's hesitation, Loz started to follow, his gait heavy.

Yazoo turned away from them, ignoring the dark feeling that he was treating them in a way he would regret. That was absurd. He doubted he would ever see either of them again. And right now, he had pressing matters to attend to, or so Cid would tell him, anyway. In any case, Yazoo simply wanted to get away.

Loz stared after their departing brother, trying hard to control the building sobs in his throat. "Yazoo . . . !" he choked out in vain, his thoughts tumbling over each other in his turmoil.

He and Kadaj had gone with Alexander to his home the previous night, and though Dartz had not been especially pleased, he had agreed to let them spend the night. This morning, Kadaj had used Dartz's computer to hack into the files that told of when and where Yazoo's private plane would land. And so they had come, wondering and worrying about the condition in which Yazoo would be. Somehow, they had not expected this, even in spite of what Reno had said about Rude, and in spite of Loz's earlier concerns. Loz had not actually thought that Yazoo would have forgotten them, especially when Kadaj remembered!

The big man looked to the youngest brother. He was disturbed by the silence, and by Kadaj's angry words during the encounter. Now Kadaj was clenching his fists, his eyes hidden by the hair falling across his face. Loz could sense the pain and hurt that was fueling his rage, and it made him nervous. When Kadaj was upset, and especially in a case like this, he was unpredictable.

"Kadaj?" he said slowly. "What are we going to do?"

The boy remained quiet for a time. "We have to find Mother." He looked up, his green eyes aflame with determination. "I hear her in my mind. She's calling to us both! She says she'll tell us why this has happened to Yazoo." He turned, walking off in a deliberate manner. "She says she'll tell us how to fix it!"

Loz perked up, quickly following. "Where is she?" he asked.

Kadaj shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure," he admitted, "but she's pulling me towards the outskirts of this city. Her voice is getting louder and more clear with each step. We'll be to her soon!"

Loz wondered why he had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

Tifa shifted in her seat, clutching her file folders as her gaze traveled around the spacious lobby. It was decorated with beautiful and thought-provoking paintings, as well as the expensive and comfortable furniture. She frowned slightly. When they had the funds to own such lavish things, surely they did not need to keep threatening to shut down her martial arts dojo for the missed rent the past three months. She had promised to get the money, but even though she had finally been able to do so, she was still receiving notices that her establishment would be closed and she and the children evicted.

So now she had come to speak to someone in person. Hopefully, when they looked over the records, and saw that she had indeed managed to get together the required payments, they would have the courtesy to call off their figurative attack dogs. The company president was reportedly a kind man, though she did not know that she trusted the rumors. He might just want to make himself and his business sound good. But it was worth a try. She would do whatever she could to keep her small business, and more importantly, to keep a roof over the children's heads.

"Ms. Lockhart?"

She came to attention, looking up at the receptionist.

"Mr. Strife will see you now."

She could feel her eyes widening in surprise, but she tried to swallow more of the same emotion in her throat. "I . . . I thought I would be seeing the president," she stammered finally as she stood.

The other woman shrugged. "I don't know the details. Only that apparently it's his assistant you'll be talking to. It's the top floor, second door to the left." She gestured as she spoke, but seemed bored with the directions. Tifa wondered if that was an indication of how well she enjoyed her job and the corporation in general.

She nodded in acknowledgement of the instructions as she headed to the elevator. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you very much."

As she pressed the button for the top level and stepped back, her thoughts began to wander. She had seen the assistant to the company president on television several times. She had thought he seemed arrogant and self-centered, the rich type who would look down on someone such as her. She could easily imagine him ordering that man to come around to the dojo demanding money. Of course, on the other hand, she supposed she could just be misjudging him. But she would be prepared in case she was not. She would not let him push her around.

With a sigh, she got out of the elevator when it stopped and walked to the correct door. "Sephiroth Jenova and Cloud Strife" was painted on its glass surface, and through it she could see the outer office, where the secretary had her desk. Tifa hauled open the door and stepped inside.

She was about to address the secretary when the door to the inner office was pushed open as well, and Cloud looked to her. She recognized him instantly from the news. There were not that many people with such naturally spiky hair. And his eyes were such a unique green, not unlike what she had heard Sephiroth's were like.

"Ms. Lockhart?" Well, he sounded nice enough. And he did not appear to be regarding her with contempt.

She nodded, walking over to him. "That's right. I . . . I've come to see you about a problem I've been having in connection with your company, Mr. Strife."

He extended his hand to her. "Well, let's see what we can do about solving it."

Hesitantly she reached out, shaking his hand briefly but politely. It was strange . . . seeing him, looking into those deep green eyes, she almost felt as if she had met him before. But that was impossible. She had never spoken to him until now; she had only seen him in the news. Still, she could not get rid of the feeling. Slowly she pulled her hand back. He did not look as though he had sensed anything out of the ordinary. It must be her imagination.

"Please," he said, now gesturing to the inner office.

She walked past him and into the good-sized room. One of the desks, presumably Sephiroth's, was in front of the large, plate glass window. The other desk, Cloud's, was to its left, creating an "L" formation. Several tall filing cabinets were on the wall opposite, and three various drawers were hanging open with files stacked on top of them. The water cooler was against the wall that she was standing by, and an old, light green couch was next to it. Judging from the sagging cushions and askew pillows, it appeared to have been slept on recently. She was slightly amused when she saw that, as well as the small vending machine bags of potato chips that were on both desks.

Cloud shut the door behind them and crossed the room. "Here, you can use Sephiroth's chair," he said, and wheeled it out from behind the desk and over to face the other. "He won't need it for now."

She stepped over to it, and him. "Actually, that's something I was wondering about, Mr. Strife," she said. "I was told earlier that I would be talking to him. . . ."

Cloud straightened up, walking to his own desk. "Yeah, I know," he answered, and plopped down in his chair. "But he hasn't been feeling too well, so I told him he should go home for a while and just rest. I said I'd handle his appointments today." He smirked, picking up a pen and idly toying with it as he talked. "He's always busy when he's here, and he just keeps on working even when he shouldn't." He leaned back, looking over at her. "I hope that I'll be a satisfactory replacement."

She nodded slowly, opening the top folder. "I hope so too, Mr. Strife."

He came to attention as she began to explain the problem, straightening up in his seat and setting the pen aside. He nodded thoughtfully, accepting the records as she handed them to him and looking them over before placing them in a neat stack on his desk. Though his face did not betray much of what he was thinking, she found that she had hopes that he was sympathetic to her plight.

At last he looked up. "Everything's in order," he told her. "Let me just make a phone call and fix things up for you." He reached for the phone, quickly tapping out a number with his forefinger.

She watched him as he spoke to someone from the department in question. It was strange, how first impressions could sometimes be entirely wrong. She had to say that she was glad hers had been incorrect. This Cloud was actually quite a nice guy. She had seen a glimpse of his arrogant side, as well, but at least he was not like some people who would keep it out all the time. And he did not seem to look down on her at all.

Now he placed the phone back in its cradle and looked back to her. "It's all settled," he smiled, lacing his fingers on the desk. "You won't have any more trouble with this company."

Relief washed over her. "Thank you, Mr. Strife," she said sincerely, reaching for the papers she had been keeping in the folders.

He handed them to her. "No problem," he said easily.

She arranged them carefully and closed the heavy paper cover before getting to her feet. "You don't know how much this eases the burden that's been hanging over us," she confessed, placing the material under one arm. "If I ever lost the dojo, I don't know what I'd do for Denzel and Marlene. . . ."

Cloud stood as well. "I have a lot of respect for what you're doing," he said. "A great way to put your talents to use and provide for your kids." He walked out from behind his desk.

She smiled slightly. "They're not actually 'mine'," she explained, as she half-turned to head to the door, "but I've taken them in."

"Good enough." He walked her to the door, pushing it open for her.

She turned back when he proffered his hand again, and this time shook it with firmness. "I hope your boss feels better soon," she said. She had been thinking about Cloud's earlier explanation of the other's absence, and had felt that she needed to acknowledge it somehow, to be polite. Especially since she had not done so earlier. Maybe he thought that seemed arrogant of _her_.

"Me too," he agreed now. "Actually, I should probably call home and see how he's doing."

She blinked at the way he had phrased it. "I'm sorry," she apologized for her surprise, "you live with him?"

Cloud smirked a bit again, sheepishly, and leaned against the door. "Yeah," he admitted. "Well, for the past few months anyway. See, there was this fire at my apartment complex, and he told me I could just stay with him for the time being." The admiration in his eyes was obvious.

She nodded slowly. "I've heard he's a nice person," she commented.

"Oh he is," Cloud confirmed. "But he's not kind to the point of being naive or too trusting. That's why the company's so successful, I think, because he's able to get the right balance." Then he paused, lowering his voice. "But just keep this between you and me, alright?" He smirked again, mischievously. "We decided it'd be better if the reporters didn't ever find out, for several reasons. You know the kind of crazy stories they'd come up with, if they find out I'm living with him."

She could, indeed. "It's safe with me," she replied, and started to turn again to leave.

"By the way . . . can I ask you to dinner tonight?"

Now she froze. That was something she had not expected at all. Throughout the time that they had conversed, she had continued to feel as though they had met before, but she had tried to push it aside. It was ridiculous, it was insane, it was downright cliché. And it was impossible to ignore it. But for him to actually ask her to dinner . . . had he felt it too, despite not saying anything or giving any indication of it? She looked back, her brown eyes filled with questions.

He smiled. "Consider it Jenova Corp's way of making it up to you."

She smirked slightly herself, in amusement. "You've already done enough," she said, "but . . . I'd be happy to accept." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wondered if she had made the right choice. Surely it could not hurt, but she was simply not in the habit of going out with strange men. The dojo and the children were her life, and she did not need anything or anyone else. Still, when there was that feeling she could not get rid of, she found herself wanting to see if she could figure out the reason for it.

"Great. Seven, then?"

She nodded.

"I'll pick you up at the dojo, if that's alright."

"That's fine." She walked to the door leading out of the outer office. The secretary had been watching them both with goggle-eyed interest, but neither of them had paid her much attention or even cared.

She turned back, placing a hand on the doorknob. "There is one condition," she declared.

Now Cloud blinked. "What's that?" he asked.

"Denzel and Marlene have to come along too," she replied. "They haven't gotten to do much away from the dojo in a while, and I know they'd enjoy a trip to a nice restaurant."

The blond chuckled softly. "Alright. Fine with me," he answered.

Tifa relaxed. "Thank you, Mr. Strife," she said quietly as she pulled open the door and walked into the hall.

* * *

Sephiroth leaned forward on the couch, running his hands through his hair. He had been so worn out by the time Cloud had suggested that he come home for a while, that he barely remembered the ride home and walking through the door. Actually, almost everything was a blank up to the time he had awakened on the couch several moments earlier. After the night he had experienced, he was grateful for that, he supposed.

He leaned back into the plush softness, staring up at the ceiling. Now that he was more rational, he honestly wondered what had been going through his mind the previous night. The dreams had been realistic, but absurd, and completely fictional. They had crept upon him when he had been in a state of stress and sleeplessness, as Cloud had said. He had not gotten much sleep throughout the week, and now it was catching up to him. That was all.

"Hate to burst that bubble, Seph, but I'm afraid that's not all."

He froze. What . . . who was that? He had heard that voice last night, but when he had looked, no one had been there. Now he sat up straight, desperately casting his gaze around the room. It was empty.

"Who's there?" he demanded, feeling ridiculous. But at least no one was there to hear him.

"Oh whoops . . . you can't see me?" He heard what sounded like the snapping of fingers. "How about now?"

The voice was coming from behind the couch. Immediately he turned, and found himself staring at the materializing image of a brunet young man who was leaning with crossed arms on the top of the furniture. He was dressed in a sleeveless, dark purple sweater shirt and matching pants, and also sported black shoulder armor and gloves. One strand of his spiky hair hung in his face, and as his greenish eyes focused on Sephiroth, he grinned.

The silver-haired man rocked back in disbelief. What . . . what was this?! What was going on?! Who was this man?! And where was he getting the audacity to address him as "Seph"? No one had ever dared to give him a nickname.

"It's been a while since I've had the chance to really talk to you." The strange man sobered. "I thought I'd never get to again."

Finally the flabbergasted businessman found his voice. "Who are you?" He had just suddenly appeared, almost like some sort of spectre or spirit. Sephiroth had never actually taken much thought as to what happened after death, but if the spirit lived on, then he supposed something like this theoretically could happen. But that still did not answer the question of why this person seemed to believe he knew the other.

"Zack Fair. It's good to meet you, Seph." He straightened up, giving him a playful salute before walking around to the front of the couch and plopping on it. "Or should I say . . . good to meet you again." He draped an arm along the top of the furniture, turning to look at the shocked tycoon.

Sephiroth held his ground. He had felt the cushions bounce when Zack had nonchalantly fallen on them, and now his image looked solid. Was this some sort of elaborate magic trick, and he was not actually a ghost at all? "I've never met you before," he grunted. "And how did you get into my house?"

Zack smiled again, but now it seemed sad and wistful. "I've been here a while, since you came back," he replied. "I guess you could say I'm . . . watching over you. I know you don't remember me any more, Seph, but let's just say that when I was alive, you and me were best buddies."

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed. "Then you are . . ." He shook his head. "When did I meet you?"

"In the military. We were both SOLDIERs, First Class."

That did not make sense. "I've never been in the military," he retorted. But a chill went through his blood as soon as he said it. In the dreams, the insane doppelganger of himself could have possibly been a soldier, from the armor he had been wearing. But . . . no . . . the dreams were not true! He was not that monster. . . . He never had been! He could not have been! This spectre was lying.

"Get out of my house," he snapped, looking up with flashing eyes. "I don't want to see you again. Get out, or I'll call security!"

Zack shook his head with a sigh. "Seph . . . security can't get rid of me. And come on, I know it's hard . . . but in your heart, you know I'm telling the truth." His gaze was firm and steady, and Sephiroth could not stand it.

"No!" He leaped off the couch, backing away from it while never tearing his own gaze from the brunet. "You . . . you're lying. I've never known you!" _I've never been in the military. I've never lost my mind and slaughtered people. Never . . . never. . . ._ He turned, running across the marble floor to the stairs. He had to get away. He was still tired. He was imagining. Maybe he was still asleep. Yes, that was it. This was another of the nightmares. . . .

He reached the top of the stairs, fully intending to either run into his room or into the bathroom, and attempt to wake himself up by splashing water on his face or having a cold shower. But the spirit was already there, in the hallway, the same sad smile on his face.

"I'm sorry, Seph," he said then, and Sephiroth could see and hear his sincerity. "I'm really sorry about putting you through this . . . but you have to remember. There's someone out there who wants to hurt you, to make you hurt others. And she feels that if you don't get back your true memories, then she'll be able to control you. And I can't let that happen to you, or to the people you might hurt under her power. If you remember, then you'll know who she is, and how to fight what she wants to do to you."

Sephiroth began to back up as Zack slowly advanced. No . . . no . . . these words were not true. Zack was insane himself, if he was actually here. "You," he choked out. "You've been giving me those dreams. . . ."

To his surprise, Zack shook his head. "Nope." He came to stand in front of the other. "That's you, Seph. It's your own horrified, guilty conscience. Now that you've got your mind back, you're starting to fully realize the extent of the damage you caused, and you can't take it. Your subconscious mind and your heart are just screaming."

In the other's eyes, Sephiroth could see reflections of the contents of his dreams, and more. He was fighting this Zack in some sort of highly advanced technological chamber, seriously wounding him. Below, an injured girl's body lay, also the result of his actions. Then he was fighting Cloud again. . . .

He was murdering a man at a desk. . . . That woman again, as well. . . . He was trying to destroy an entire planet, to restore it to some other being. . . . A strange, alien woman who smirked at him from the depths of his mind . . . the woman who had driven him mad.

No . . . NO . . . _NO!_ None of it was true . . . none of it! This person was trying to hypnotize him, to brainwash him into believing these falsehoods! He would not stand for it! Never!

He reached out, desperately grabbing for Zack's shoulders to push him away. But he could not touch the younger man.

In his crazed, panicked state, he lunged at the intruder. He had to catch him, he had to make him go away. He could not take this! This man's lies were going to drive him out of his mind, right along with those blasted dreams!

He did not take the stairs into account. Instead of making contact with Zack, he slammed hard against the top step and then pitched forward with a gasp, tumbling down the rest of the flight to crash, flat on his back, at the bottom. Dazedly he stared up at the ceiling, vaguely aware of the pain sweeping over him and of his quick, winded breathing.

No . . . it was not true. . . . He was an honest businessman. . . . Cloud was his assistant, his friend. . . .

The brunet leaned over him, concern written in his features. "Oh Seph. . . . Hey, you okay?" Sephiroth did not reply, but the ghost seemed to determine that he was not badly hurt from the spill, at least not physically.

The spirit shook his head, laying a hand on the other's shoulder. "I know you've got the strength to walk down this path, Seph. I'll be here to help you, too. I'm not gonna let you be hurt again by Jenova. I couldn't do anything the first time, but now . . . now I can." A haunted look flickered through his eyes, followed by a firm determination.

Sephiroth could feel a certain energy emanating from the younger man's touch. And as he focused, something clicked in his mind. "Zack. . . ."

His friend relaxed, smiling again. "Yeah . . . it's me. I've missed you . . . old pal."

* * *

She was pleased to hear the door open, to see the two coming inside. Yes . . . she had known they would come. It was all perfect now. This plan of hers would not fail. It was cruel, it was wicked, but she cared little of such matters. Her instinct was to destroy, and destroy she would. This planet would be hers.

"Mother!" Kadaj cried in awe. "Mother, I'm here! I've found you!"

"Yes," she purred. "Come closer, my son."

He came as close to her as he could get, still staring at her with green eyes of reverence. "Mother, what's wrong with Yazoo?" he asked desperately. "We have to fix it. . . ."

"The planet doesn't want you to carry out your missions, so it has tried to corrupt all of you," she lied. "It managed to get Yazoo, and some others as well, including Sephiroth."

At the mention of the dreaded name, Kadaj froze, his fists clenching. "Sephiroth. . . ."

"I called to him also, but someone is blocking me. Only you, Kadaj, only you have heard me. You are worthy to be my son. Not Sephiroth. Will you and Loz do as I ask?"

Kadaj's eyes widened in sheer amazement. It was what he had longed to hear, so badly. She wanted him. She was pleased with him, and she would surely love him. And she would help them save Yazoo.

He dropped to one knee. "Of course, Mother," he said. "Anything. . . . We'll do anything."

She smirked to herself in triumph. "I quite thought you would."


	6. The Poison of Hatred

**Notes: Thanks to Lisa for all her plot help, and to 1wngdngl for reminding me that I needed to get this done!  
**

* * *

** Chapter Six**

Reno walked down the street in determination, a destination already in mind. Behind him he could hear Yuffie indignantly demanding to know where they were going, but he did not pay attention. She would find out soon enough.

It was a new day, he had experienced a deep, though uncomfortable, sleep, and he had a new perspective. He had given up too easily with Rude. He supposed he had just been so shocked at the other's sudden memory loss, and the cold, uncaring way that he had been brushed aside. Rude had intensely pained him, and it still hurt, but now he was irritated at himself for losing his temper. That would not help. If anything, it had probably made it worse. He was determined to get Rude's memory back, and maybe, with Yuffie present to give a second witness, the other man would be more willing to listen.

Up ahead, he could see the building where Rude had been working the previous night. As he approached and stopped, he heard Yuffie give an indignant cry.

"A bar?! It's still the morning, we've gotta find people, and you want to get a drink?!"

He ignored her. He had seen Rude going out a side door, his broad shoulders slumping down as a sign of exhaustion. The place was open all night, and by all appearances, Rude had labored during that time and was just now ending his shift. Maybe the weariness would help to make him more willing to listen to his friend, and then again, maybe it would make it more difficult.

Reno took a deep breath. "Well, here goes everything," he said to himself.

"Hey, Rude!" he called as he sauntered over to the older man.

Rude started and looked up, frowning. "You've got a lot of nerve, to come here again after last night," he snapped. He had not expected that he would ever see this insane redhead again. After he had told his boss about the other's conduct, Reno had officially been fired. And Rude had been perfectly content with it.

"If you're hoping to get your job back, it won't work," Rude grunted now. "No one was impressed with you."

"Nah," Reno replied, "I wanna talk to you."

Rude glowered. "I don't have time for your nonsense." After being hard at work for so many hours, and having to take on Reno's part of the job as well, all he wanted was to get home and sleep. He did not need this, especially now.

Undaunted, Reno clapped a hand on Rude's shoulder, the other starting violently at the action. "Yeah, I know," said the red-haired man. "But I've got someone who'll back up what I'm saying. Can't you give us five minutes, while you're walking home? You won't lose any time."

Rude looked around the bluish-green-eyed man to where a raven-haired girl was leaning on crutches. She sighed wearily, but then tried to smile and give a half-wave without falling, when she caught Rude's gaze. She seemed a strange choice for an accomplice, if Reno was not telling the truth. And even if he honestly believed he was, would someone else support him in such madness? Of course, he could not possibly know the correct order of things, but Rude decided that it would not hurt to humor him . . . this time. Maybe he would even go away afterwards and not come back.

"Fine," he said at last. "But only until we get to my home."

Reno shrugged. "Fair enough," he grinned, and motioned for the girl to come with them. "This is Yuffie Kisaragi. You used to know her too, but right now you don't."

Rude merely grunted. He wondered if he would regret this experience later. Actually, he was regretting it now. As Reno talked, with Yuffie interjecting now and then, it seemed almost . . . familiar, he supposed. Well, maybe not the girl's presence. But the redhead's easy-going nature and manner of speech, and them simply proceeding down the street, was like something that had happened before, many times.

Of course it was ridiculous. It would have to be that as Reno continued to try convincing Rude of the truth of his words, that Rude was imagining it all and being influenced. Nothing else made the slightest bit of sense. Though, he seemed sincere, and the girl was confirming his statements. It did not seem as though this was an elaborate joke. But there was not any way that these things could be true.

Was there?

* * *

Sephiroth again leaned forward on the couch, his long hair sweeping around him as he gazed at the floor. He still did not recall everything, but over the past few hours, bits and pieces had been coming back to him. Most of it was negative---some of the torture he had experienced as the scientists had tested his endurance and strength, more details of the calamities he had brought about, and his dark feelings that had developed towards Shinra, Cloud, even Zack, after he had lost his mind. 

In his former madness, Sephiroth had believed that he had been betrayed by his comrade. Now, he knew that he had been the one to do the betraying. How could he even face Zack, after what he had done? He wished that Zack could have managed to kill him that night in the reactor room. If he had been fully aware of what he had been doing that night, that was what he would have wanted. Though, Zack had probably known it. And it seemed like he blamed himself for Sephiroth's insanity, which was ridiculous.

"Seph . . ."

He glanced over at the other, who was still beside him on the couch. Zack leaned down to see into the green eyes, smiling sadly.

"Hey . . . there's good stuff to remember, too," he said in a quiet tone. Even though he knew this was for the best, it was still hard, to see his friend so stricken. Part of him worried that Sephiroth could go mad again from all the memories being thrust upon him, but he shoved those thoughts aside. Perhaps regaining his memories would actually ensure that he would stay sane, as Aerith had told Zack earlier. It would be extremely painful, she had said, but it might give him the determination he needed to ensure that it would never happen again, that he would nevermore commit such abominable acts.

Sephiroth shook his head numbly. Anything good paled in comparison with the bad.

"Cloud . . . he doesn't remember anything yet, does he."

Zack sighed, shaking his head. "Nope." He knew what the other was thinking. When the blond did finally recall things, it was not going to be pretty. And Sephiroth had a heavy weight tied around his heart, knowing that they were, indeed, mortal enemies. It was going to be a rude awakening for Cloud. Zack had a very bad feeling about it. And, from stuff Aerith had said, she felt the same.

Both of them looked up when the door opened. Sephiroth felt himself tense as Cloud walked in, undoing his tie and shutting the door in a nonchalant way. It would be impossible to ever look at the younger man in the same way again. They were not business partners, they were not friends. They were arch-rivals. After everything that Sephiroth now remembered had happened, it could never be different. Cloud would feel the same, or much moreso, once he also recalled the past.

Feeling eyes upon him, Cloud glanced over and shook his head. "It doesn't look like the rest did you much good," he commented.

Sephiroth grunted. He wondered if Cloud was going to say anything about Zack, but then again, probably only he could see the brunet right now. And that was naturally best.

"You, on the other hand, look as though you've had a good day." For now, Sephiroth could not bring himself to tell Cloud what he now knew. The blond would probably only think he was insane anyway, or that the lack of sleep was doing it. Sephiroth wished that was the explanation. He doubted that he would be able to conceal the truth for long. Even if Cloud did not gain his own memories right away, Sephiroth did not think that he could bear being around the other, not when he himself remembered. He would not be able to lie that way to Cloud to or himself.

Cloud nodded. "Yeah . . . I met a nice girl who runs one of the buildings we own," he said, heading for the stairs. "A martial arts dojo. I'm going to take her to dinner."

"Oooh," Zack remarked, and smirked a bit. "He and Tifa found each other. This is going to be interesting."

Sephiroth slumped back into the plush softness of the couch, watching Cloud begin to ascend the steps. "I hope it goes well," he replied truthfully. He wished that the other would quickly arrive at the top and go to his room, or anywhere, anywhere that was not here. He could not keep up this charade.

Cloud nodded. "Me too." He reached the top step and then leaned over the railing, looking down at the other. "You should probably try to get some more sleep or something," he remarked. "Have you tried a pill?"

"No."

"Maybe you should." He started to turn away again. "I'm picking her up at seven."

Sephiroth nodded. "Fine." He placed a hand over his eyes tiredly, listening as the blond walked down the hallway and into a room. The door closed behind him firmly, the sound being magnified in the large house. Then silence reigned.

". . . Wow."

Sephiroth sighed, hearing Zack's voice. "That . . . was horrible," he muttered pointedly.

He could sense Zack was nodding as well. "I'm sorry, Seph. . . ." He was not certain what Zack was apologizing for, but he suspected that it was the fact that Zack had appeared to prompt the conscious return of so many of his old friend's memories.

The silver-haired man shook his head wearily. "No . . . you're right. I need to know. It couldn't be helped."

Now Zack was quiet for a time. "I was actually kinda surprised to see you and Cloud getting along so well, like you have been," he admitted. "Well . . . I dunno . . . if you two could maybe put the past behind you . . ."

"Cloud wouldn't be able to. And I don't blame him. What I did . . ." Sephiroth took his hand away from his eyes, glaring up at the ceiling. "What I did is unforgivable." He had the feeling that it had not fully hit him yet. It all seemed too much like an unreal dream, something he could still wake up from. He felt numb. It was so hard . . . so sickening . . . to realize that the insane man from his nightmares truly was him. He could not comprehend it, yet he knew it was true. For now he was locking the truth behind a wall of ice. But ice would shatter all too easily.

"Hey . . . I forgive you, pal."

Sephiroth sat up straight, looking over at the other. Zack's expression was completely serious now, no trace of mirth in his sincere eyes.

"And I know . . . it probably doesn't mean much right now," he continued, "but I've gotta be grateful that you lost your mind when you did those things. I mean . . . it's not like you deliberately decided to go out and do what you did." He slowly laid a hand on Sephiroth's shoulder.

Sephiroth watched him. Zack was right---it was not much of a comfort. Even though he had not wanted to kill all those people, he had still done it. And he had to wonder, Jenova had influenced his thoughts and had driven him mad, but she must have started with some seed of an idea that was in his own mind and heart. She must have taken it---in this case, probably his fear that he was not human---and twisted it, poisoned it, until he had not known truth from fiction. And he hated that he had not been able to recognize that he was being manipulated.

"I'm weak. . . ." He looked away, glowering at the wall.

Zack sighed sympathetically. "The way Jenova works, she makes you think that what she wants is what you want," he said, though he was certain that Sephiroth knew that all too well now. His friend's own instability had sent him over the edge once Jenova had started her wicked games.

Sephiroth was silent. "I can't stay here," he muttered then.

Zack watched him quietly, sadly. "Where will you go?" he asked.

"I don't know. . . . Maybe back to the company. . . ." It sounded hollow. What would there even be for him to do at the company building? He was not a businessman. Anything he could try to accomplish there would now seem so pointless. His heart would not be in it. But he had to do something. There was not any other life for him on this planet.

Zack nodded slowly, continuing to observe the other. Sephiroth did not try to get up, as if he was too weary and burned out to even attempt that much. It made the brunet's heart twist. And on the other hand, he was grateful to see this side of his friend, instead of the crazed monster. Still, he had to wish that he was not only a spirit. He wanted to be able to offer more comfort, to pull his friend close in a hug. Sephiroth was not fond at all of physical contact, but he had allowed it every now and then from Zack. He had the feeling that Sephiroth would allow it now.

* * *

The two strangers had arrived in the small town several hours ago, and already they were making themselves at home. As soon as they had exited the bus, they had crossed to the monument in the town square. Townspeople, curious to know who these visitors were and what they had to say, had started to flock around them. Then, the one who seemed to be the leader had begun to preach. 

That was really the only word for it, the mayor decided with a shake of his head, as he peered outside through the slats of his office's venetian blind. The boy spoke with fervor about someone who had the ability to solve everyone's problems, someone who deserved all of these good citizens' loyalty, someone who was ready and waiting to lead them all to victory. It was either a religion or a cult. Or a fraud, he supposed, but the speaker sounded so absolutely sincere. But maybe he was honestly a believer, and the person he worked under was secretly a fake.

He really was only a boy, decided the middle-aged man. And yet there was something about him that gave off a distinct sensation of having seen much more than most did in their lifetimes. But he also sounded unstable. The longer he talked, the louder and more passionate his voice became, and the more captivated his audience became. Maybe it was time to put a stop to this. The last thing these people needed was to become involved in some sort of damaging cult.

Quickly he crossed the room to his door and opened it, stepping out onto the street. The various cries and cheers of the spectators met his ears, and he shivered slightly. Some of them were yelling that they wanted to know more, that they wanted to meet the "Mother" of whom the silver-haired teenager was telling. Others were jeering, saying that he was a fool and ordering him to step down.

To these, the boy brandished the most bizarre sword the mayor had ever seen. It looked like a katana, and yet it had two separate blades! And the look in his green eyes was as two daggers.

The older man with him, sporting the same color of silver in his hair, would also step forward when the opposition got to be too much. He glared as well, but also occasionally yelled odd things that were apparently supposed to be insults, such as "You meanies!" That only produced a chorus of laughter from the contenders. But when the man demonstrated his powerful physical strength, and punched the foremost heckler several feet back into those behind him, suddenly no one was laughing any longer.

"What's going on here?" the mayor frowned as he approached.

"These people are harassing us," announced the teenager, turning to look at him.

The man studied the uproar before looking back to the boy. "It doesn't look like you and your brother are helping the situation along," he commented, eyeing the drawn katana and the other's clenched fists.

"We have to defend ourselves," replied the youth, "and Mother's honor." He studied the mayor intensely, the pupils of his eyes narrowing to cat's slits. It was as if he was examining every inch of the man's soul, memorizing each aspect of his personality, every thought, both good and ill, and deciding what he thought. Suddenly, he was both judge and jury.

The mayor took a step back. This was actually intimidating. He should be the one in charge, and yet it felt like this stranger had everything under his control. But . . . that was absurd! He must be falling into the other's hypnotic spell. There was not another logical explanation. He narrowed his eyes. No one can be hypnotized without their permission, and he will not give his.

"Mother will solve all of this world's problems," the boy said soothingly. "She'll even help stop the crime going on here."

. . . She would? Somebody certainly needed to do something. He was at his wit's end. The thought of having help was definitely welcome.

"There won't be any more robberies, or murders, or other bad things. Mother will create a peaceful world, where everyone's happy. All she wants is the support of everyone who also wants to see this happen."

He certainly did want to see it happen! If somebody was ready and willing to do it, then they definitely had his respect. Maybe this boy really did have the answers. He should listen to what was being said.

Kadaj straightened up, smiling with pleasure at his victory. It was much too easy to brainwash the skeptics into accepting Mother. That was part of the power she had given him. And now this town was falling under her control. It would not be long before the entire world followed suit!

* * *

Denzel could not have been more excited when Tifa returned with the news that she had met Cloud and he had invited them to dinner. 

Ever since they had ended up in this place, he had been trying to find Cloud. After all, it stood to reason that if they were there, Cloud would be, too! And then, one night the television had been on while Tifa had been cleaning the table from dinner, and Denzel had seen a press conference for Jenova Corp.

The name had always been suspicious to him, ever since he had first learned that they owned the dojo. But he had wanted to stay as far away from them as possible, as he had assumed that some old enemy of theirs must be running it. And he was partially correct. Then, to see Cloud---_Cloud!_---go up on the platform and discuss the company's plans for the coming year, had been . . . well, to say it was a shock would be saying too little. Cloud and Sephiroth were working together?! Something was obviously very wrong. And Sephiroth had not seemed crazy. The only solution Denzel had been able to reach was that they had both lost their memories, as Tifa and Marlene had.

He had tried to get into Jenova Corp to talk to Cloud. He had tried several times, but he had always been turned away by either security or the receptionist. Actually, he had been going to call and attempt to make an appointment, but then he had learned that Tifa needed to go there because of the threats being made to throw them out. If Tifa could see Cloud, maybe it would help restore all of their memories!

She did seem a bit weird when she came back, as if being around Cloud was bringing something back that she could not understand, and Denzel was glad to see it. Now that they were going to have dinner too, and he would be there, maybe he could figure out something to say that could trigger Cloud's memories. It had not worked with Tifa, when he had tried before, but now things might be different.

Cloud was right on time too. There was a knock at the door exactly at seven. Denzel leaped up to answer it. "Tifa, he's here!" he called down the hall.

Tifa was completely prepared. She took a deep breath, studying herself in the bathroom mirror. It was ridiculous, for her to make such a fuss over it. After all, it was just a polite gesture from a stranger. Though she could not deny that she had felt something strange when she had been there. And when she had got home, she recalled all of Denzel's talk about someone named Cloud.

She had worried over the boy when he had started making such outrageous claims. They came from another planet, he said, and Cloud had lived with them. And they had needed to save the world from Sephiroth in the past, before Denzel had come to live with them. Then there was a bizarre trio of silver-haired boys who had started kidnapping all the kids. . . . All of the tales were so extremely detailed, yet fanciful. After all, they could not be real! There was not any way. Still, there was that feeling . . .

She frowned, shaking her head as she pushed the thoughts away. It was just her imagination.

She had to smile slightly in amusement when she came into the main room and found Marlene and Denzel clamoring around a slightly overwhelmed Cloud. Marlene was plying him with questions, asking him what it was like to run a big company, and Denzel was . . . well, hopefully he was not telling Cloud his stories. She had not thought to warn him about that.

"Okay, guys," she said as she walked over, "let's give Mr. Strife a break."

The chatter stopped, and Cloud relaxed noticeably. "No, that's okay," he said anyway. "I like kids."

She could see it was true, too. And apparently the feeling was mutual. But even so, she knew all too well that it could get dizzying sometimes.

She held out her hand. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Strife," she apologized.

He smiled, shaking it. "No problem," he replied. "We're just getting acquainted." He nodded toward the door. "Shall we?"

She nodded, smiling again as Marlene ran happily to the doorway and looked out. "Wow!" the girl squealed. "Do we get to ride in that?" She pointed outside, and as the others came over, Tifa could see that she was indicating the limousine parked by the curb.

Cloud smiled as he stepped out into the sidewalk. "That's right," he said.

Marlene beamed, hurrying over to the shiny black vehicle.

Denzel was pleased himself. Things were off to a great start.

* * *

The dinner was, overall, a pleasant experience. Marlene was thrilled to be eating at an expensive restaurant, and she seemed to have quickly become attached to Cloud, as well. Tifa and Cloud mostly made small talk, gradually getting acquainted in between Marlene's interested questions. Denzel was watching everything with interest, but to Tifa's relief, he had said nothing about his strange stories. 

"Hey, Cloud," he said at one point, when there was a lull in the conversation, "what's Sephiroth like?"

Cloud blinked in surprise, glancing over at him. "He's a good guy," he answered. "He knows how to run a business, but he hasn't lost himself in the process. He's not ruthless, like a lot of business people are."

"And you really like working with him?" Denzel pressed.

"Denzel," Tifa admonished quietly. Maybe she had decided too soon that he was not going to say anything awkward. What if he brought up his ideas about Cloud and Sephiroth being mortal enemies?

"No, it's okay," Cloud reassured her, leaning back. "Yeah, I really do," he said to Denzel.

The boy swallowed hard, nodding as he looked down at his food. It would have to be like he had decided, and neither one of them remembered. Nothing else made sense. But what would happen when they came to recollect everything? Would Sephiroth try to destroy this world? Would Cloud hate him and be furious? It was going to be a mess.

"Cloud," Marlene chirped suddenly, "can I ride with you on your motorcycle sometime?"

Cloud looked to her in gentle amusement. "If Ms. Lockhart says you can, then sure."

Marlene immediately looked to Tifa, her brown eyes wide and hopeful. "Can I, Tifa?" she pleaded.

Tifa could not help but be moved by how the little girl had so quickly bonded with Cloud. But the thought of her riding on a motorcycle seemed unsettling. For all she would know, Cloud could be a very reckless driver.

She looked down at her food, hiding a smile. "Well . . . I'll think about it," she promised.

Marlene grinned. "Yay!" she cheered.

* * *

After dinner, Cloud treated the kids to ice cream, which they---especially Marlene---were delighted about. Denzel did not ask any more odd things about Sephiroth, and the ride home was enjoyable for all. 

Tifa leaned back in the seat, her thoughts wandering. It seemed strange, how everything tonight felt so right, as if after a long absence, an important part of her life had come back. Cloud and the kids were getting along so well, and she had been able to easily converse with him without feeling that things were moving too fast. Still, as she had decided before, it was too cheesy, too cliché. It was ridiculous, how it felt like they were a family.

. . . Could Denzel be right?

"Tifa?"

She snapped back to the present at Marlene's voice.

"We're here!" The little girl undid her seat belt, looking to Cloud hopefully. "You're gonna come see us again, won't you?" she exclaimed.

Cloud looked amused, if not slightly put on the spot. "Well . . ." He glanced awkwardly to Tifa, and in spite of herself, she found herself quietly smiling.

"I'd like that," she said. "And the kids would too, as you can see."

Cloud smiled too. "Then I'll be around again," he said.

Marlene hugged him happily before scampering out the open door.

Tifa glanced back to him before following. "Thanks for dinner," she said, as she began to climb out. "I really enjoyed it. And I haven't seen Marlene and Denzel this happy in a while."

Cloud nodded. "I should be thanking you and them," he answered. "It's been a while since I've been able to take a break from the workload."

Tifa nodded as well. "Goodnight, then," she said.

"Goodbye, Cloud!" Marlene called, waving from the sidewalk.

He smiled, waving back.

"Cloud?"

He started. Denzel had not gotten out yet. Instead the boy was watching him seriously, his blue-green eyes filled with concern.

"You really like Tifa, don't you?"

Cloud stared at him. What was he doing, trying to play matchmaker? "Well . . . we just met today," he said slowly. The truth was that he did like her, and he wanted to see her again. He had felt a certain amount of relief when she had expressed the same desire. He had wanted to ask about another date, but had wondered if she would think it too pretentious or forward.

Denzel nodded, looking satisfied. "Just . . . don't let anything bad happen to her, okay?" he said quietly as he climbed out. Pushing the door shut after him, he stood on the sidewalk and waved as the limo drove off.

"What were you saying to him, Denzel?" Marlene asked curiously.

He shrugged. Tifa would not like it if she found out. "Oh . . . I just wanted to make sure he'd be coming back soon," he answered.

Marlene blinked up at him. "Did he say he would?"

Denzel nodded, heading for the dojo. "Yeah," he called over his shoulder. Well, it was not exactly a lie. He was sure that Cloud would, indeed, come back soon. He could not help smiling as he went inside.

* * *

Cloud slumped back in the seat. It was ridiculous, but Denzel's request would not get out of his mind. _Just don't let anything bad happen to her, okay?_ It repeated over and over, intertwining with memories that were trying to form, and then flitting away again before anything concrete could be gleaned from them. . . . 

_Don't let anything bad happen . . ._

He was running through a field of flowers. . . . Tifa was laying there, motionless . . . dead? No . . . she was unconscious . . . badly beaten. . . . He knelt down, gently taking her into his arms, shaking, his insides twisting. Why . . . why had she come there? No . . . he knew why. She had been looking for him, of course. But . . . but what had happened to her?! Who could have done this?!

Weakly she opened her eyes, hazily focusing on his face. "You're late," she choked out.

_You're late. . . . Too late . . . always too late. . . ._

They were kids, off on some adventure. . . . Tifa fell, striking her head. She was seriously hurt. . . . It was his fault. . . .

Nibelheim was in flames. . . . Tifa's father was dead. . . . So was Cloud's mother. . . . Tifa was wounded again. . . . Zack was, too. . . . Sephiroth had lost his mind. It was Cloud's fault. . . .

Zack was laying, gasping for breath, on the hill overlooking Midgar. Blood was coming from his mouth, and from the wounds in his chest. He was dying . . . to protect Cloud. It was his fault. . . .

_Too late, too late. . . ._

Aerith was kneeling in the Forgotten City, her hands clasped in prayer. Sephiroth was descending from above, his sword held high. He plunged it into her body. Her eyes widened in shock and pain, blinking once, twice. . . . Cloud could only stand by helplessly and watch. It was his fault. . . .

No! No, it was not his fault! It was Sephiroth's fault! _Sephiroth!_ He was the reason they were here in the first place, wasn't he? He had done something, he had sent them all here! He had made them lose their memories!

But he still had his, didn't he? Of course! He had kept Cloud close to him, finding it all a joke that his arch-nemesis looked up to him again, that he did not remember how Sephiroth had betrayed him! Sephiroth had never changed. He had only pretended to be good and kind. This was all a scheme of his!

_"Hey, Cloud," Denzel said, "what's Sephiroth like?"_

_Cloud blinked in surprise, glancing over at him. "He's a good guy," he answered. "He knows how to run a business, but he hasn't lost himself in the process. He's not ruthless, like a lot of business people are."_

_"And you really like working with him?" Denzel pressed._

_"Yeah, I really do," he said._

Cloud clenched his fists tightly, the physical pain ignored in the face of the indescribable mental turmoil. Sephiroth was not his friend. Sephiroth had betrayed him years ago, at Nibelheim. And now he had done it once more. This was Nibelheim all over again. Cloud hated him. He hated him so much!

"Driver," he barked, "step on it!"

He would go back home. He would confront Sephiroth about this. Sephiroth would not deny it. He would smirk cruelly, pleased that Cloud had finally figured it out. And Cloud would not be a puppet any longer!

The blood dripped over his palms, unnoticed.

Unseen and unheard by him, Aerith sat at his side, her green eyes filled with a growing worry and horror. It was as she had feared. If he was not able to be stopped, Cloud would fall into his darkness.


End file.
